The Kingdom of the Promised Land
by YveBushido00
Summary: Even before their heated conflicts, Canaan and Alphard had a past. Although Alphard would probably hate to admit, she and Canaan shared a bond as comrades under a soldier's apprenticeship with Siam. How could two people become so distant despite the fact they trained, fought, and killed together for so long? Their snake tattoos symbolized their connection as well as their fate...
1. Prologue - Desert Crown

_Author's Note_ - Hi guys! Glad you happened to stumble upon this little story. Thank you for even taking the time out to read this. I feel like you guys dedicate precious minutes and hours to read these stories even though you may not know what you're getting yourselves into. I appreciate that. A lot. Tell me what you think and I'll try my best to improve! OK... I think I should shut up, now, lol. Enjoy!

* * *

Prologue - Desert Crown

Alphard had been sitting on the hood of the beaten-up truck she and Siam had stolen from the town a few kilometers back. She kicked her legs up and down, bouncing them against the truck while the sun beat down on her from above. The droplets of perspiration ran down her legs, her arms, her neck. The feeling of warm, streaming liquid flowing down and throughout her skin was one she had become accustomed with but never quite had gotten used to.

The heat was augmented by the rising sheets of infrared rebounding from the blazing desert ground and distorting her outward gaze. She felt like removing her rugged combat boots, her light-fitting T-shirt, her dusty, blasé pants and be rid of them so she could at least do away with some of the heat pounding her body. Instead, she opted to fanning herself by tugging the collar of her shirt repeatedly, somewhat venting herself in the absurdity that was the desert. She stared at a cactus, trying to establish a connection with it in a hint of heat-influenced insanity and pitiful conscience since it and she were the only living things around in her vast, empty vicinity. She had to cover her eyes with a cuff of her hand to see the rolling, ragged mountains sitting on the horizon. They were the only good elements of the uninviting terrain, their hauteur grazing the deep-blue, too-bright-to-look-at sky which just had to be cooler than sitting at ground level and helplessly melting away. The flat and cracking ground she sat above was better than the hellfire passage that had been the curving, towering dunes they'd recently passed through after having completed their objective in the previous town. Minimal, but an improvement nonetheless. The heat was overbearing, conclusively intolerable. She wondered how any human being, or any living creature for that matter, could live in such inhabitable conditions without cursing their existence.

The cactus ejected intimidating needles from its rugged surface a few paces away from her. She chugged the canteen, draining what remained of her ration. After jerking her neck back for what was inside of it, she placed the canteen in front of her and dipped it up and down to confirm that it was really empty though she already knew. The heat distorted her rationale, just like it did the ground as her vision was warped in shifting waves of visually incomprehensible shears. She threw the canteen at the cactus in frustration. It hit a needle, fell to the ground, and settled. There was a reservoir in the back of the truck but Siam meticulously kept track of how much was remaining in it; should she even remove a milliliter of treasured H20 from its large container, he would make her run arbitrary laps through the desert. She wasn't too fond of that idea. The cactus seemed to mock her – she imagined it tempting her, taunting her, teasing her. "Can't take the heat? Get out the desert." _Fuck you, Cactus._

Siam had simply told her to wait by the truck. When he told her to do something, it might as well had been a military directive or a truce issued by a sovereign king. She had to listen. Continuing to suffer in the heat, she imagined that if she had been a bit stronger than him, which she was far from, what she might do to him as payback for making her wait in the inferno with tantalizing water sitting in the truckbed just behind her.

She noticed that from underneath the hood of the truck, traces of smoke had been slipping through and fuming in the air near and around her. She got up, popped the hood from the driver's side, and lifted the cover only to be blasted by more heat in the form of smoke flooding her and further raising her temperature to her infuriation. She stepped away and fanned the smoke from her face and watched as the engine exhausted clouds of smoke into the searing air. She was apathetic as to the vehicle's condition, though it obviously was doing no better than her, and walked around the truck, climbed atop the truckbed, and sat on the top, facing the cactus anew. She kept the hood lifted and let it sift like she had been for the past hour.

Cactus, capital C since they were now acquainted to some degree, stood strong and tall against the gravity of the ridiculous heat. She stared at it with her distant, azure-blackened eyes and detested it for even being able to adapt to such a harsh environment. Inspired by her unjust and misplaced resentment, she conversed with Cactus as if it were a real person to pass time and to possibly forget about the inferno beating down upon her;

"Hey" she started.

….

"How do you deal with this? The damn heat, that is."

….

"Don't you get tired sometimes? Like, you know, bored of being stuck in a permanent sauna and all?"

….

"Come on," she encouraged, "you can't actually like being in Hell. Even if it is a less hot version."

….

"Do you know what rain is? Does it ever, like, form thick clouds in the sky and start pouring water? Does that even happen here?"

….

"Maybe you don't know any better" she concluded, curving the back of her knees into the cabin of the truck through the open driver's seat window. A thought crossed her mind after having gone through the most casual conversation possible with a cactus. Don't they have water in them? They're plants. As aesthetically unpleasing and unsettling they are, they're still a weird form of plant life. She thought she heard somewhere that cacti had water in them. Potential salvation. An epiphany might lead to her water-thirsty quench being satisfied.

She kept an army knife in her back pocket just below the FN Five-Seven snugly hidden inside her pants near her lower back, a more convenient location than the more sharp and lengthy one she kept underneath the cuff of her tight-fitting denim near her foot or the more experienced, somewhat dull box-cutter like knife she kept inside the strap attached to her right leg or the more lethal, tip-piercing one she kept opposite the handgun on the other side of her waist. She had choices. Undermining the rough texture of Cactus, she opted for her everyday, comfortable blade, switching the knife out with her fingers, and leaping from atop the truck. She approached Cactus and was about to test whether or not her hypothesis was a cruel myth or a brilliant discovery for nomadic, desert-wanderers like herself. Unable to see a mischievous needle sticking out where she had thought there was none, she lunged at the surface only to be stabbed, shedding blood going down the inside of her middle finger.

"Damnit!" she complained as scarlet dripped down the inside of her hand and quickly made its way down her wrist. Not only was she losing water at a decent rate, she now had the luxury of losing blood as well with no way to properly bandage the wound except for some first-aid provisions Siam always kept with him. _Fantastic._

There was always the ancient and completely sanitary option of stopping the bleeding by putting the appendage in her mouth and sucking on it like a baby. But she was just too angry to think about doing so and let the wound drip, drip, drip, bloodletting. Somewhat ashamed of her actions, she realized that the heat had driven her to semi-psychotic behavior which had resulted in an affliction she should not have sustained. She knew better. She was trained better. Her composure always had to remain sound, regardless the condition she found herself in. And yet, Cactus, with its limb-like arms sticking out and taunting her still, along with the ever-raging furnace that was the desert, had irked her enough to drop her rationale and act foolishly. She was annoyed by the pain but wasn't mad at Cactus. It was the heat. It had to be the _heat. _Drops of her blood coagulated along her hand, collected at her wrist, and fell unto the desert floor, drying and evaporating on contact.

"You got me, Cactus" she joked, a smile creeping consciously over her face. "You really got me."

…

"Do you have to be so mean?" she continued, kicking dirt into the air which blew away in the breeze. The wind had been commandeered by the sun's rays and turned into the desert's elemental bandit, streaming flashes of dusty particles and still hotter gusts into her face and clouding her vision.

…

"I mean, you're all alone out here and you got needles all over you for little reason. Its not like anyone's going to attack a cactus out here."

…

_Damnit. Fuck you, Cactus._

She had to stop her mania before it turned into schizophrenia. She thought Siam would be back by now. There was nothing there. Just a town, or what was left of a town, sitting in an oddly placed area somewhere between nowhere and a shortcut leading to nothing.

The buildings in the distance had been buried and abandoned after what looked like a disaster had ravaged it. The concrete slabs which had constructed the buildings sat awkwardly above the unforgiving ground in a state of decay characteristic of devastation. The windows had been punctured, leaving not-so-circular vacancies in the exteriors, many of the roofs had been compromised, leaving gaping voids and disrupting structural integrity, and random pieces of debris had been floating around, drifting far away from the buildings they had once constituted. The desert had more life in its merciless embrace than that desolate ghost town.

Before she returned to loathe by the truck, she heard a slither emerge from behind Cactus. She turned to see a considerably large, coiling snake twirl from the base of her prickly friend and make its way toward her in slow, winding swivels. Mesmerized by the curling motion, she returned her blade to her pocket and kneeled to its level where she could observe it more carefully. It was a welcome distraction to take her mind off the heat and the pain from having hurt herself trying to fulfill her need for water.

Its tongue incrementally slipped from its rounded head, whipsawed while making a clicking sound, and returned only to slither again shortly after. Admiring its cold and distant demeanor, with an urging sense of resolution and a determination that resounded in the back of her mind, she decided that she wanted to be like the snake. Not that she wanted to crawl on the desert floor and live among cacti while hunting rodents. She thought that its traits - patience, elegance in its squalor, efficiency during the hunt, purposefulness, and prowess - were admirable qualities to emulate whenever she went out on missions with Siam. Scarlet mixed with golden dust just centimeters away from the serpent, now just an arm's length from her knees.

"Hey, Snakie" she nicknamed while pivoting her head to analyze its crawl from a tilted angle. "What are you doing here?"

Slither.

"Am I your prey? Do you want to hurt me?"

Crawl.

"You're not much different from me. We're both attracted by bloodshed and, look, I even have a tattoo of you on my arm."

She rolled up her sleeve to show Snakie the tattoo which slithered from her wrist up her arm in the most intricate way possible. A black, carbon decal spun up her forearm, twisting and turning like the snake's motion on the ground. It winded and wheeled along its path, shortening the distance between them steadily. Its fangs jetted upwards sharply from the bottom of its mouth.

"Aren't you tired of crawling on the ground? Or is that where you thrive? Is this where you belong?"

Slither.

Alphard covered her sleeve and stood to her feet. The blood from her hand slid down onto her tattoo, staining it red. By now, the sun had begun to set. Along with its departure went the vexing heat and she could finally relax without having to worry about her head throbbing from the sun's beatdown. She took her gun from her waist, aimed it at the snake, and fired three shots into the snake's head, body, and at its tail. The snake tried to flee, but its life was slipping away. Blood seeped from the bullet holes and boiled on top the still hot ground. Its body was writhing, rotting, still. Smoke lifted from the gun's muzzle and evaporated in the wind while she stared at its bloody carcass with a heartless comport.

"Bye-bye, Snakie" she whispered while turning away from the dead serpent.

Leaving the snake and cactus behind, she returned to the truck and assumed her status of waiting again. The sky had turned orange, intertwined with trails of pink luster scattered across and above the western horizon.

* * *

After another half hour of waiting, she finally heard footsteps approaching from the barren town.

"Siam!"

He marched through the desert with his commanding presence, a backpack hanging behind his back, his hands in his jacket pockets which exposed his dirtied and wrinkled tank-top underneath. He ignored her excitement to see him, observed whether the truck's status and her condition were the same, and continued walking forward with a neutral, apathetic look on his face. She was happy to see him though he wasn't one to reciprocate emotions very well, if at all. She, however, was put on alert when she heard the sound of more than one set of footsteps coming from his direction. She equipped her Five-Seven and aimed in Siam's direction, to which he reacted fearlessly.

"What are you doing?" he asked in an underwhelmed yet aggressive tone.

"Someone's following you."

"Did I ever teach you to point your weapon at comrades?"

"N-no…" she said in a sheepish tone, her stance now filled with doubt and uncertainty.

"Put your weapon away."

She obeyed with her head down in shame while placing her handgun at her waist in its original place. "But who's following you, then?"

Siam slowed his stride to a stop before reaching the driver's side door. He only did so to wait for the person behind him to catch up to his steed and do the same. He stared at Alphard for a long moment, scolding her silently with a brutal and unforgiving gaze.

She hated that look.

He noticed that there was blood running down her wrist from her hand and wondered how she had attained that wound.

"Where'd you get that cut from?" he inquired with demanding resonance.

She had to think of an excuse quickly knowing that there was no way he'd take her half-maniacal, semi-fantastical cactus and snake phase as a good reason for why she was bleeding so profusely. It was totally unbelievable and half-assed at best.

"I, um…. I accidentally cut myself sharpening one of my knives."

He didn't believe it. But since there was no threat anywhere around for kilometers on end, he didn't feel the need to pry. She was relieved when she saw that he had no desire to press any further.

"I want to introduce you to our new comrade."

_What?_

He stepped aside to show her a small, frail looking girl that looked like she just escaped from a refugee camp and found asylum in Siam's company. A pink, somewhat oversized tank-top, scuffled red shorts, and the most unorthodox shade of silver hair a person could have but which she sported quite well. She gazed at Alphard with a look of worried concern, not knowing what to expect from the taller, black-haired, red-handed bandit sitting on top of the truck. Alphard didn't know what to think of the fragile girl Siam had brought with him; she stared at the girl indifferently, looking down upon her from her perch atop the beige, raggedy old truck.

"Go ahead," Siam told the little girl, "introduce yourself."

She looked at Siam, looked at Alphard, looked back at Siam for support, looked at Alphard in fear, and succumbed to the order bestowed upon her by the tall and rugged man.

"C-Can…" she muttered.

"Speak louder" Siam asserted to her with an encouraging tone in his voice.

"Ca-Canaan" she announced.

This must have been some kind of a joke. Alphard wasn't laughing. _Fuck me._


	2. Chapter 1 - Acquaintance

Chapter 1 - Acquaintance

"Why am I sitting in the back seat again?" Alphard asked Siam who kept his eyes glued to the road, even though there wasn't really one.

…

Alphard sat against the rough seat with her now bandaged finger tracing a hole which had somehow been punched in the cushion; it revealed much of its plain, yellow, deteriorating stocking, which seemed to decay into miniscule particles she could not quite remove from her hands. The girl had taken her seat up front which she would have easily claimed had it not been for Siam's order to take a sit in the back. Her feet were crunched underneath Siam's seat and had started to become numb since he couldn't adjust it without stopping to yank the lever which was completely jammed otherwise. She was able to pull one foot out and readjust her leg so it hovered behind the center console and allowed circulation to resume through her leg where it was choked. The lever of the window next to her was missing, so it always remained down, sending dust and the occasional pebble soaring into the back cabin, some of which landed precariously in her eyes. She reduced her vision to a squint so as not to be blinded by annoying sand which the tires kicked up on their way to the next town.

Looking out the window was enchanting. The heat had dissipated in the nighttime and left them with a cool evening she could appreciate immensely. It always eluded her how the desert could drop double-digit degrees when shifting from the scorching day to a welcoming, somewhat frigid night. The sand which collected in the distance and had multiplied the sun's heat now sat piled along the horizon, barely visible in their fast-moving vehicle. They had become like black stacks of granulate upon more minute granulate and collected only to form formations of indefinitely shaped, abyss-colored subtleties that no longer attributed to the harsh environment of the desert, but instead added a surreal element indistinguishable during the day. She knew they weren't moving. Albeit stationary, at the speed they traveled the dark stacks of sandy hills seemed to fall unto themselves and roll past her in an undulating motion she would never notice in the daytime. The moon sat high above, shining its luminous and melancholic ray over the desert in majestic ambience while floating carelessly in the celestial canvas. It was the final piece to complete the panorama she stared out into: black hills with the lunar princess drifting high above.

She could never understand how the harsh, snake-infested desert could turn into a mellow and alluring terrain within the span of a few hours.

Still, she continued to stare out into the desert-scape. It was better than thinking about having to become acquainted with some girl Siam had found while wandering through a ghost town. And how Siam had the audacity to say that they were now comrades.

Occasionally, she would glance away from the rolling hills to the mystery girl who sat silently in the vehicle with her head poignantly pointed straightforward. Her beige-like hair teeming with traces of silver seemed to match the setting established by the moonlight. The girl would often look toward her periphery in Alphard's direction in a show of nervous fear and novice caution; she hadn't been able to relax since she had entered the vehicle two hours before. Alphard couldn't blame her. She hadn't been able to reconcile with the fact that the little bugger would now be traveling with them.

And what about that name? _Canaan? _Isn't that…

The Promised Land. A land flowing with milk and honey and mana or whatever. Not many people in the region would give their children that name without thinking twice about it. It was too prophetic. There was no question about it. Siam had given her that name after having encountered her.

What was so special about the girl? Alphard, and certainly Siam, knew that she couldn't part the Red Sea or free a nation like a certain someone had. He had bestowed it upon her, anyway.

From what Alphard perceived of the girl, she couldn't see what Siam saw in her. She was obviously younger than Alphard but not by much. A few centimeters shorter than she was. A much smaller frame and, as a result, a much smaller physique that she probably wouldn't be able to outgrow. Not to mention that she was a famished and nearly pitiful piece of work after having been in that town for however much time she was stuck there. She had an odd kind of beauty about her. Short hair that reached just above her shoulders in silky strands, a thin face, and eyes that matched her hair with their unusual shade that almost seemed like they couldn't be found on the visible color spectrum. That was the only compliment that she was willing to concede. Besides that, she couldn't see the girl fit to fight as a rogue soldier in any way.

Canaan stole a look at Alphard from the side of her eyes but turned away suddenly before Alphard had a chance to meet them. Alphard kept a straight face, leaned with her hand against her cheek braced by her elbow against the windowsill, and stared at the side of the girl's face for a long moment. The girl obviously knew that she was being visually probed since she winced and grimaced, making nervous gestures with her shoulders and tightening her grip against her wrinkled shorts while looking out the window. She moved her feet anxiously, flexing her leg muscles and stretching them out when she previously had no need to do so. She could in no way relax when the disturbing sensation of someone's eyes crawling up and down her neck kept her from at least having a peaceful ride to wherever they were going. The only thing she felt like doing was curling her body into a fetal position and cradling herself in the rough seat to escape that piercing gaze. Eventually, Alphard let up and stared out the window again, trying to clear her head of the negative thoughts which flooded her mind by staring at the dark, veering scenery in the distance.

The truck bounced when it sped past more sizable objects during certain patches of the long stretch and glided smoothly when they were on a paved road that was devoid of the bumpy slopes and tractionless surfaces, unlike the last one had been. Alphard's sense of time was given to her by the nighttime panorama which seemed to continue for kilometers and kilometers with no sign of ever ending in the vast expanse of the desert.

* * *

Alphard had noticed that they were approaching some kind of civilization when they began to past local militia patrolling the streets for any nighttime criminal activity. Siam drove past them without giving them a second look. Alphard did the same. The girl, however, had taken curiosity as to the militia's clothing and weaponry and looked at them with their assault rifles and squad trucks as they passed by. Alphard's view of the scenery was eclipsed by buildings of various occupations. It was a scenic town. Though it was devoid of people during the night, it obviously had more life than the ghost town Siam had decided to investigate while going through the desert. There was a bank where Siam had parked his truck, a convenience store at the corner, and several more residential structures down the street, all of which were built in stone slabs or with mosaic designs.

There was a fountain a few paces up the street from where they had stopped, spewing liters and liters of glistening water into the air and descending in a flower-like pattern that collected in a stone, circular basin lined with curling, golden accents on its exterior. The sidewalks were barren and cracking throughout their stone constitutions but still made for more than solid foundations for which to walk upon than risk getting injured by the pebbles and jutting rocks laying in the middle of the street. The ambience of the city was azure and dark, sometimes glowing with alabaster sparks of crystal coming from the mosaic façades lining the exterior of the buildings. It was one of the better towns in the region and was known for being a waypoint for many travelers on their way back to the desert. The mood was relaxing and attractive, as if something mysterious could happen at any moment, and Alphard could truly appreciate the fountain since she was still parched from not having drunk anything the whole way there.

She hopped out the backseat and told Siam that she would return shortly. She ran towards the spraying fountain and dunked her head in the collecting pool of water, rejuvenating her body as she drunk from the fountain with joyful gratitude. She wet her hair, washed what remained of the blood on the stained tattoo, and relished the feeling of cold water flowing down her throat. Breathing a sigh of thankful relief, she stood on her feet and shook her hair dry by rotating her head back and forth and throwing her hair forward after most of the dark locks had been tossed behind her head. Using a single pin, she wrapped her hair in a ponytail with one swooping motion. She parted the hair obstructing her vision behind her ear and looked back at the sidewalk as Siam and the girl exited the doors of the truck. Almost subconsciously, she also made a note in her mind as to where the militia units were stationed: a squad watching the west exit, another two militia making passes perpendicular to where the fountain was, and a squad at the south gate where they had entered. Knowing Siam, he had likely done the same.

She returned to the truck and inquired to Siam as to what they would do next;

"Where are we going to sleep?" she asked with a slight pinch of fatigue in her voice.

"There seems to be an inn there" he stated while gesturing across the street from where he had parked. "But we don't have the money. I wouldn't mind sleeping in the truck but with the militia protecting the area, I'm not willing to take any chances."

Alphard looked at the patrol units at the south exit who had been eyeing them maliciously since they had entered the town. They sat in various positions, one with his feet on top of the table where they had been playing cards with a flashlight and drinking beer, another with his chair turned backwards towards the table, and another standing against the arch monument that greeted visitors and parted with those who were leaving. They were being watched by the sweeping guards as well. The girl didn't really care as to what was happening, kicking dirt and tapping pebbles with her feet while she leaned against the truck with her arms behind her back.

"You know what to do" Siam said quietly while looking Alphard in the eyes. She had a feeling he would ask.

"Alright, alright" she complained as she scouted for an alley adjacent the inn. "I'll need at least five minutes."

"Don't take any longer" he ordered but before she could affirm, she had already taken off. He sat on top of the trunk while watching over the girl who continued to kick at rocks on the dusty ground. Pulling out a pack of his favorite cigarettes, he lit himself a joint with a match after stroking the flint on the side of the matchbox several times, fanned the match away, and enjoyed the tranquil moment despite his knowledge of being surrounded by lions ready to pounce on him at any vulnerable moment. He didn't have to worry. Alphard was quite good at what she did.

She used a box to have enough height in order to climb into the window which she had to force open before entering. The hallway of the second floor was uninviting with its perpetual darkness. There was a room down the corridor to her right that she targeted. Room 217. She let her hair fall down after removing the pin and placed the tip inside the lockhole. With what little light she had to work with, she was able to jimmy the lock, hearing a distinct click signifying success. She wrapped her hair anew with a single motion, this time the pin sticking out at an angle where she created the updo instead of being totally hidden by her hair. After having screwed on a suppressor to her Five-Seven, she used her free hand and turned the knob slowly, entering the door once it was fully opened. Meticulously landing each step of her rugged boots on the flattest part of her foot before it arched, there was virtually no noise while she walked past the restroom and through a small passage until she saw what was a middle-aged man deep in slumber on what looked like a pretty comfortable bed. Approaching from the side of the bed he was not sleeping on, she aimed for the back of his head and fired twice, the second for safe measure. Blood seeped from behind his head and leaked onto the pillows and white covers.

She removed the suppressor, put the gun away, and began the cleanup process which she wasn't at all excited to do. She kicked the man off the bed, grabbed him by the arms, and dragged his body backwards until she reached the closet opposite the bed from where she had shot him. His body slouched arbitrarily in the far corner, she left him there and proceeded to cover his body with the sheets he had stained. The mattress of the bed was without cover but had not absorbed any seepage. His body was covered in the rags of his own soil, scrunched up carelessly against the wall at the far end of the closet.

After that step was complete, she found the inn card along with the key the man had left on the table near the bed, closed the door behind her, and exited by the window from where she came, never losing stride in her attempt to remain as silent as possible.

Siam saw her approach from the alley and gestured towards Canaan to follow him across the street. The militia watched them enter the inn as if they were normal customers who went in to rent a room for the night.

The innkeeper looked at the odd trio suspiciously but thought nothing of them when he was shown the inn card and key by Siam, who had taken them from Alphard before entering, except for the fact that they were weird tourists. His shift had just started and he would have a lonely night watching a Spanish club play an Italian club in an international friendly from the T.V. inside the main office.

* * *

"Nice job" Siam complimented while they climbed up the stairs to the second floor, the girl trailing behind them.

"Did I leave you waiting?" she teased while making their way down the corridor.

"It was less than five minutes. Though it felt a bit longer with all the militia watching us."

"Naturally."

They entered the room which was lit by the light of the moon streaming in from the window against the far wall of the room. It felt like any other room she and Siam had slept in during their travels through the desert, though this one was a bit more spacious than some of the more claustrophobic rooms they had lodged in before. The girl walked in quietly, examining every detail of the room before she would go into the bedroom area. Siam placed a bag of his provisions on the bed and cleared it of the material they'd stolen from the previous town. Vials of some material, weapons they'd procured from eliminated soldiers, rations they'd eat before they set off for the desert.

"Don't open the closet" Alphard stated. Siam immediately understood.

"There should be clean covers in one of the drawers of the table beside the bed. You can fix the bed while I use the restroom."

"Who's sleeping on the bed, since there's three of us now?"

The silver-haired girl looked at both of them curiously as they deliberated as to who would be taking the bed.

"I'll sleep on the floor" Siam declared. "It doesn't matter to me. As long as I have a pillow."

"I'm taking the b-"

"No, you're not."

Alphard was appalled to hear the words come out of his mouth. "Wait, so the girl's sleepin-"

"Her name is Canaan."

Alphard ignored his reassertion of her name. "That means I'm taking the floor?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Unless you don't mind sleeping with her."

She nearly growled at Siam but knew better. He hadn't siphoned off the bed to her for no reason; she was still frail, borderline emaciated after several hours, maybe even days of being imprisoned in the collapse of a building she had been trapped under. The girl needed as much comfort as she could get if that could help with the recovery process.

Alphard gave in, realizing that she had no reason to vouch for her case when the girl needed the soft-spring mattress way more than she did. "Fine" she muttered as a grievance and a concession. "She'll sleep on the bed. At least I'm not sleeping with the guy in the closet."

Siam smirked and headed for the restroom where he could remove layers upon layers of dirt which he had collected while they traveled through the desert. Alphard and Canaan stood in the room together, both of whom had no idea what to say to one another. Instead of standing around idly and waiting for a conversation that would likely not start, Alphard went to arrange her sheets and pillow on the floor at the end of the passage leading away from the entrance. She couldn't believe that the little runt had taken the place which she basically had worked for. Now she would have to settle for the grace of an unfeeling, rough, unmolding floor cushioned by only one layer of sheets instead of the subtle joy of sleeping on a soft, comfortable, blissful embrace that was a cozy bed.

The girl hadn't entered the room since and only stood at the passage, staring off into space, which annoyed Alphard beyond comprehension. If she were her, she'd already be long gone in dream world. She twiddled with her thumbs as if they were toys and meshed her fingers between one another while standing randomly, occasionally looking up and staring at the bed.

_What is she looking at?_

Alphard turned her head after placing a pillow at the head of the covers and could see that the girl was looking at the handgun near the edge of the bed. A Beretta PX4 with an ambidextrous mag release and muzzle flash guard. It was black-coated but brown-laced at the grip with trims of silver underneath the muzzle and above the trigger. She seemed to be attracted by it. Alphard, being far more assertive than the girl was, went over to the bed, grabbed the gun by the handle, and approached the girl.

"Here," she said before sticking the gun out by the handle, "you can have it. You're going to have to use one anyway if Siam wants you to stay with us."

…

"Don't be afraid. It's just a gun; it isn't going to hurt anybody unless you want it to."

The girl slowly stuck her hand out and took the gun with her right hand. Underestimating the weight of the firearm, she stumbled forward a little when it almost fell to the floor after Alphard thought she had a good grip on it. Alphard made doubly sure it wouldn't fire before giving it to her. She held it and examined its design, never holding it by the handle all the while as if it were some kind of rare exhibit an archaeologist didn't want his student to drop. Alphard watched the girl with pity and a trace of disgust, not understanding what exactly Siam saw in her that she couldn't. At least they both had some sort of attraction to guns. That was something they had in common.

_What an odd way to be acquainted._


	3. Chapter 2 - Nomads

Chapter 2 - Nomads

Canaan didn't know what to think of anything that had happened in the past few hours. She had slept on the bed for a while as gratitude to the tall and rugged man who had saved her from the debris but no more since she just couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep amongst strangers. She had slept on her side, facing the window, watching the lights shift in the sky from the cool night to the rising rays of dawn which had begun to sweep over the city. She left the gun on the table adjacent the bed. The taller, black-haired girl called it a Beretta, whatever that was.

She could see the careless and mean girl, Alphard, resting in a pose demonstrating her difficulty with having to sleep on the marble floor. Her back was turned to Canaan, her feet were restless, and she kept repositioning herself to little avail. The other guy, who she heard the taller girl call Siam, was sleeping quietly on the floor on the other side of the bed. She thought he would be the type to snore, considering how large his physique was and how robust the impression he gave. He, however, made little noise, even less so than his companion, who was still tossing and turning against the floor which seemed to be giving her nightmares. She blinked at the window, fully awakened, her hands tugging the sheets she slept under tightly for as much comfort she could absorb from the gentle fabrics.

A mattress was better than sleeping on the floor. Surrounded by debris. In never-ending darkness. For days.

Much better.

She still hadn't understood what could have caused her town to be left in shambles. She couldn't remember what happened. Only certain images remained in her mind before she had gotten stuck under the roof which had suddenly dropped on her. She heard the sound of footsteps. Running. Banging. Screaming.

Blank.

The man on the floor, Siam, had cleared the wreckage she was trapped under. She hadn't made any noises while stuck in that stone cage yet he still had the intuition to know where to find her. She looked at his face when he had cleared the debris, unable to see clearly when the light had flooded from above but capable of seeing what was still fresh in her mind. An unforgettable expression of heartfelt compassion and genuine concern. Eyes that were too heavily-laden with regret and lost to be those of a savior. Nonetheless, he did rescue her from what looked like an inevitable end. Death was creeping its way into her being. The hand he extended in the debris removed her from what would have been a pitiful and lonely condemnation.

She was thankful.

The sun's rays lit the purple and violet nuance that was the sky into a more distinguishable hue of dark-blue as it began its ascent. The sky's color was much like the tall girl's eyes: dark, a swirl of azure and black which seemed to mélange endlessly, hollow and churning, as if they had grown tired of repeating an endless cycle over and over again. She had only caught glimpse of them when they were traveling in the truck and while she had been conversing with Siam over who would take the bed; the image of her eyes, a mirror into her psyche and self, lingered in her mind. They were the most piercing eyes she had ever gazed into. Frightful, yet sarcastically endearing.

She had no urge to return to sleep. She made sure not to make too much noise while sliding her legs out the sheets and stepping onto the smooth marble floor. She didn't know what she wanted to do. She went through the small passage, past the bathroom, and closed the door of room 217 after having exited. Walking down the corridor in the morning was relieving. Her body was still aching and stiff after not having moved it for a few hours. Vitality returned to her legs and arms after taking a short walk to the end of the corridor and descending the staircase to the first floor of the inn. The innkeeper greeted her with a nod to which she replied similarly. She hadn't even approached the exit and she could already hear the town's bustling residents even that early in the morning.

The town had a completely different vibe from the one they received earlier that night. The local militia's presence wasn't as heavy. Most of the guards at the south gate had disappeared. She only saw one armed man dressed in a woodland fatigue with a cigarette in his mouth talking with a civilian near the convenience store.

The town had a culture about it that could easily be seen through its residents. There were merchants who began selling their wares in a street that behaved as the town's bazaar. Going through the streets were other residents as well, some of whom were cloaked in black scarves while others carried all kinds of assortments atop their head in what looked like some kind of physics-defying stunt, but was only part of their daily routines. Noise was teeming at dawn; the early morning hours had the most activity. Women were collecting their air-dried clothing from hanging wires. Some men had gathered near the bank to have a quiet conversation amongst themselves. Kids were out and about, playing joyfully in the streets as they teased mules and played games in the dusty streets. Canaan walked into the busying streets with little purpose, so much different from everybody else around her. She was used to this kind of activity being that it was all too similar with what she would see in her town. Unfortunately, she could not react well to the sights, sounds, and sensations when she thought about her home having recently been decimated. She had nowhere to return to.

Approaching the truck, she sat on top of the hood like she had seen Siam do earlier. The engine was still warm despite having been off the entire night. It obviously needed serious repair but, after seeing the way Siam whipped it through the desert, she could tell he had the intent of riding it until the wheels fell off. Her hands clasped together, she leaned forward atop the hood, contemplating deeply as to what would happen to her next.

While Canaan sulked quietly, a patrol truck entered the city from the south gate. It was the hell of a machine. A grill surrounded by a reinforced bumper, four large wheels that smashed rocks and pebbles when they rolled by, and a gunner on the far end. It had several men in it, all of whom were just as heavily armed as the local militia which had been patrolling the area. Canaan watched carefully, her eyes blinking at the odd sight while one of the militia, who had exited the vehicle, conversed with another. The one who came out the truck had two papers in both his hands. She couldn't quite see who the papers depicted but already had a feeling who the men were searching for. After seeing the weapons Siam and the tall girl had with them, along with their subtle hints of malicious behavior, she deduced that they were doing something wrong.

The one guard patrolling the gate pointed in her direction.

She knew what would happen next.

* * *

Canaan walked inside the inn and slowly went up the stairs back to the room 217. After entering the door which she had left a crack in so as not to wake Siam and the tall girl, she saw that they were still sleeping. Alphard still kicked wildly while trying to attain what minimal comfort she could from the stone floor while Siam lay on his side with one of his arms bracing the side of his head against the pillow and the other going across his body. They obviously weren't used to waking up so early in the morning, nor were they in any condition to do so if they always traveled through the desert. She calmly approached Siam, kneeled on the ground, and gently began tugging him awake by shaking at his arms.

"Siam" she called quietly.

He awoke, thinking that it was Alphard who was trying to wake him. When he saw that it was Canaan, he was immediately alerted. Though he hadn't known the little girl but for a few hours, he recognized a worried look whenever he saw one.

"Canaan?" he responded with grogginess in his voice. "What is it?"

"I think there's some guys after you."

He took every word she said very seriously. "Where'd you see them?"

"They entered the gate in a big truck a few seconds ago."

That was good enough for him. "Alphard!" he yelled, to which she woke very suddenly.

"What's with all the yelling?!" she questioned angrily. She had barely gotten any sleep and now had to deal with someone screaming at her in the early morning.

"I hope you got a good night's sleep," he joked while rising to his feet and loading one of the guns on the bed, "you won't be able to get any more with gunshots going off."

Immediately, she rose to her feet, grabbed her gun she had left on the bed, and loaded it with a new magazine, pulling back on the slide to load the chamber. Canaan watched it all transpire as if she were a spectator observing a sport she had never seen before. Siam told Canaan to move to a vacant corner of the room so that she wouldn't get hurt during whatever gunplay which would ensue.

"How many?" Alphard asked while placing a knife in her back pocket and strapping the casing for another around her leg.

"Do you know?" Siam asked Canaan, to which Alphard responded with an interested look on her face.

Canaan shrugged.

"Great" Siam muttered sarcastically.

"That makes it more fun" Alphard snickered with enthusiasm in her tone. "Not knowing the odds against you makes playing the game that much more interesting."

* * *

The militia squad would have interrogated the innkeeper if they needed to but didn't since he complied so readily. He looked at the pictures nervously, told them which room, and even directed them to the stairs where they could reach their targets. There was another football game on, this one between two English clubs. He didn't notice that one of the teams had scored a goal while he helplessly watched as six heavily armed men walked past his booth and head up the stairs. The referee called the game after the allotted penalty time had expired.

The first of the militia squad knocked heavily on room 217, demanding that the occupants surrender without resistance. There was no response. This militia unit was particularly eager; without asking a second time for their surrender, he gestured to another one of the militia to kick the door down. The soldier placed his assault rifle behind his back and kicked at the door vehemently with his black, dusty combat boots, the ridges underneath supporting his lunges at the door. Eventually, the door gave in to the steel-toe boots, buckled at the hinges, and cracked open from the side where the doorknob was placed. Perplexed as to why the door didn't swing open, he pushed it open with his shoulder only to see a dead body peel over sideways. The first soldier was horrified. He was shoved forward by a now pissed militia leader behind him. He stumbled and nearly tripped over the dead body, breaking his own fall by plastering his hand on the wall next to him.

The militia leader yelled loudly at the soldier to march inside and commanded the rest of the soldiers still in the room corridor to ready their weapons for impending bloodshed. He kicked the dead body sideways, steaming. He seemed to have developed a vendetta after having seen the man's body used as their greeting and now sprawled over the entryway.

One soldier headed toward the restroom which was perpendicular to the entryway. After taking a few steps, he suddenly vanished into the closet flanking the right wall before the bathroom entrance. Some muffled sounds and a few seconds later, he sunk lifelessly back into the passageway, his body slumping up against the opposite wall.

The soldier in front was further stupefied when the only thing he saw at the end of the corridor was a petite girl standing idly in a corner and watching them quietly. He didn't understand. It just didn't add up. He approached slowly, caution brimming with each cowardly step. He wasn't going to shoot an unarmed girl. It didn't make sense, even if she was behind what happened to the man. Her face remained expressionless as he closed the proximity between them.

Before the wall bent to supply space for the closet opposite the bed, he felt what he knew was a barrel against his head and said a last prayer before the trigger was pulled.

The loud bang terrorized the militia who still hadn't cleared the corridor – their comrade fell flat against his side, his blood splattering on the opposite wall from where the trigger was pulled. The third soldier behind the militia leader finally noticed then that their other comrade was lying against the entryway to the restroom. He really hadn't known when his life was taken. A few seconds before, he was right next to him. Then a glance later, he was no longer amongst the living. Now, it was his turn as he looked straight into the barrel of a gun held by a man in a white tank-top who had soundlessly emerged from the closet while he wasn't looking. He would have raised his assault rifle and fired at him but he only had time to scream a yelp which was muffed by a bullet being lodged into the back of his throat.

Finally, one of the militia let off shots from his AK-47, firing toward the restroom where the bullet had murdered his comrade. Siam dived into the restroom and hid behind the wall, barely avoiding the line of bullets which would have riddled him. There was a large mirror sitting above the sink from where he sat behind the wall which he used to his advantage. He waited patiently for the man to unload his magazine, which he did out of utter fear, total shock, and uncontrollable desperation, and peeked his gun from behind the wall, firing three rounds into him, one hitting his chest, the other two piercing his lower body. He took a seat on the floor, smearing a trail of his blood against the wall, positioned so that he was just diagonal from the corner where they had witnessed the greeting from the dead man's body.

Canaan observed, two fingers in her ears while ducking in the corner as each soldier was eliminated. It was quite a display for her to watch.

The leader was the only one who was still left in the room. The other stood outside fearfully, designated to keep watch so that no outsider would interfere. The militia leader fired arbitrarily at the area where he had seen the point-man slain, putting holes into the mattress which puffed its white stocking in every which direction around the bedroom area. When he finally had full frontal view of the direction where the second closet was, he lit the wall with holes in a sweeping motion. Not seeing the whole view because of his sporadic shooting and simultaneous muzzle flashing, he hadn't seen as a black-haired girl approached feet-first from below his line of fire in an acrobatic motion he couldn't possibly respond to in time. She had her right hand below her waist at the center of her leg while she tripped him forward with a swooping kick from her right leg. Pushing off the floor with her left hand, she stabbed him in his chest while he fell forward, embedding the blade just below his sternum, and left another of her knives upright from where she had slid as a parting gift. He screamed at the agony already flaring through his body and at his silencing on the way down. His neck landed perfectly on the knife, gouging through, cutting his breath permanently short.

Siam emerged from the restroom and looked over at Canaan to see if she was alright, already knowing that Alphard would be fine. She was removing her knives from the leader's body, disgusted by how much blood she had gotten on her hands and tattoo. The last soldier finally decided, after much deliberation with himself, to enter the room and see what was happening. He regretted that decision with his life.

Siam shot the last soldier who had entered the room before he could even raise his gun. He slumped over backwards, his hand swinging against the floor before he completely settled. Siam checked the inn corridor to see if there were any more. Clear. He hurried back inside and told Alphard to pack the bag that was still on the bed so they could make an early departure.

Canaan lifted her fingers from her ears and looked at the carnage the two had caused. Blood was the common denominator amongst all the militia. Their bodies were lined throughout the room; it had been turned from one of the more luxuriously designed spaces in the inn to a graveyard. Holes lined the walls. Puffs of white stocking filled the air. The room was redecorated red.

Alphard packed the bag while Siam went through the bodies for money which he found tons of. The soldiers gambled too much during their free time.

Siam approached Canaan with a light demeanor despite what he had just done, his face changing to a more gentle figure so he could address her;

"Canaan" he said quietly while bending his knees to her height. "You're probably thinking about a lot of things after what you've just seen. I know that you don't have a home to return to. In that regard, we're the same. We have no homes. We're nomads. But we can take care of you. You need to first know that this is what we do. There's no other way of living for us."

She looked deep in his distant eyes with her silver-beige eyes, feeling so far away from him though he was so close. "You have to make the decision."

Alphard watched quietly with a gun in one hand and the bag of provisions over her shoulders. She wanted to see if the little runt would give the same answer she did.

"Do you want me to teach you?"

Canaan thought about the offer for a moment. The question seemed too heavy for her to answer affirmatively or simply turn down. She had nowhere else to go. There was nothing left for her. A life with them, as tumultuous and unstable as it appeared, was better than having nothing. Than having no home. Maybe the black-haired girl, Alphard, could be like a big sister, though she'd be quite the mean one. Maybe the tall and rugged man kneeling before her could be like a father.

And she could learn how to be a soldier.

To her, there was no better decision to be made.

Canaan walked over to the bedside table and grabbed the gun she had left there the night before, this time by the handle. She walked back to where he had asked her the question and responded with a question of her own:

"Can I use this one?" she asked quietly.

Siam blinked several times out of surprise, not expecting her to accept his offer the way she did. He didn't show it much, but he was happy.

"Sure you can" he assured with a content tone. "That's a good choice." He patted her on her streaking silver hair to which she responded with a subtle blush and barely visible smile.

Alphard watched the scene with a light heart and let out a small chuckle, finding the whole scene to be somewhat laughable.

"Alright" Siam said. "We can't go by the stairs. So we'll just have to exit by the window. Alphard, you go first."

"Fine, fine" she obeyed sarcastically. She threw the bag first and then descended by hopping a set of boxes flanking the wall underneath.

"Come on" Siam spoke to Canaan. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 3 - Color

_Author's Note – _So, it took me a while to write this one. But I think that you guys will like it, whoever you amazing readers are. If I should cut down on the length for the next chapter or get more dialogue in, tell me! I'm doing this for you guys anyway, lol. Have fun reading!

* * *

Chapter 3 – Color

"I'm thinking we may not be able to leave the damn town if they keep on us like this" Alphard surmised while looking at the squads of passing militia stampeding the street from the alley where they hid. "We're going to be stuck here for a while."

"What about the north gate?" Siam asked while lighting a cigarette.

"No way in hell."

"Any openings going south?"

"Nope."

Siam grimaced jokingly at the situation they were in as another squad passed by their position and streamed into the inn they had just escaped from. The gates leaving the city were being blocked off. Many of the more populated streets were being barricaded, to the merchants' frustration. They had scoured the whole southern part of the city from where they arrived and were making their way through the central portion of the town, covering ground very quickly. Alphard peeked out from the corner of the wall in an almost futile attempt to find an opening where they could slip through without being spotted; if they were seen, they'd surely be hunted down after having committed several homicides. The possibility of leaving the town grew more and more bleak with each passing moment.

The town civilians had grown increasingly concerned by the surging militia activity which seemed to plague the town. Alphard could see as bunches of men watched the marching sweeps being carefully ran down each street, annoyed looks being given, conversations hushed under their breaths. Women looked from the windows of their apartments and collected their children still roaming the streets. The merchants complained openly to the militia for disrupting their sales to which they responded apathetically or aggressively, shoving them aside or destroying the wares they peddled. Their top priority was locating the scoundrels who killed their comrades. With the way they stormed every street or searched every nook and cranny, they'd have their culprits sooner than later.

"What's prison like here, Siam?" Alphard inquired with a grin on her face, alluding to their pending capture. Canaan looked up from where she had been becoming acclimated to her new weapon, curious as to the answer he would give.

"I wouldn't know."

"I thought you said you've been."

"Not here."

"Then where?"

"You don't need to know."

"Was it a damn gulag? Some place where you can't sleep at night without freaking out when a needle drops on the floor?"

"Something like that."

"Well, you might be going back soon if we don't get out this mess. You'll be living out your old days again" she joked while another stream of soldiers passed by.

"I can live with that. At least in prison I don't have to kill people for no reason" he stated eerily while ashes of the cigarette burnt onto his dusty jeans.

"What, and you're saying that we are?" she challenged, turning her head away from the street to look into his eyes before he responded.

"Not at all. You know better."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

"War. Combat. You can't get away from death on the battlefield. I tried to convince myself many times that we took other peoples' lives for a reason. But after a while, when I couldn't give myself good enough reasons or find a reasonable explanation as to why I was becoming numb, I gave up trying."

Alphard could do without the war-heavy sentiment. She looked at him with an irritated comport, mad at him for ruining the amusing mood she was trying to create. Canaan listened quietly while pressing the mag release and reinserting the cartridge, repeating the process until she was able to time the motion, having become used to how reloading a handgun felt.

Siam flicked the embers at the butt of the cigarette which fluttered in the air and dissipated in the wind. He was testing something. His skin had begun to grow unusually prickly. The sand, even when blown around by strong bouts of wind, didn't sting as much as it did while standing in that alley. He flicked the cigarette again and observed the sparks while they flew through the dust-permeated air, as if the fading ashes of light were a filter of some sorts. When he seemed content with what he saw or had intuitively gained something from his surroundings, he continued;

"I don't feel bad for myself. I was making conscious decisions. And, just like I've taught you and how I'll teach Canaan, we all have the right to choose."

"Yeah, whatever" Alphard retorted. "I don't think these militia will let us choose which hellhole they send us to once they've grabbed us by our asses."

Siam chuckled. "That much is true." A swirl of wind passed through the alley, preceded by the multitude of marching feet still pursuing them, and swept through the alley until it veered upwards and faded into the many currents which had begun picking up.

"Alphard."

"Yeah?"

"Can you see the merchants' bazaar from here?"

"Yeah. We'd have to go up the street and cut right before that squad patrolling the street corner."

"OK. When you see even the slightest opening, I want you to take it and we'll go into the plaza. That should give us some time since it's crowded before we go east. You're taking point."

Alphard was visibly intrigued by the prospect of going into a bee's hive but listened anyway. Canaan stood to her feet after hearing the order and waited for Alphard to give them a signal. Siam threw his smoke onto the ground and put the flame out under his boots before he rose. He looked up and saw as the sky began to change color from its dim and discrete dawn to shine a brimming morning's bright blue, filled with the allure of a new day. Siam felt uneasy. Praying to escape a town bedeviled by innumerable militia would be a sin in and of itself.

Alphard's environmental discretion was sharp. She had taken note of every soldier that had ran by and created a mental image in her mind based on their movement. She waited for another group to pass by, spied on a lone soldier who ran into an alley across the street, and eyed the squad at the corner for when they would be distracted. When another group had gone by, she gestured quickly to them and ran across the street in a hurried sprint, Canaan close behind and Siam trailing.

They would have nearly cleared the stretch from the alley across the street had it not been for a guard patrolling the street traversing the corner from where the squad was stationed. Their veil of evasion was compromised.

Alphard heard the scream of one guard telling them to stop and sucked on her teeth.

_Damn._

The militia screamed loud enough so that everyone in the vicinity, armed or civilian, knew that the trio was the problem. Immediately behind them, they heard the clashing and frantic running of multiple footmen chasing them into the plaza.

* * *

The bazaar, in any other case, would have been the last place Alphard would even think about going into, but turned out to be beneficial while trying to escape the militia in pursuit. It was the liveliest place in the town. Merchants' tables, stores, and booths flanked both sides, the ground was littered with all kinds of shreds, debris, and paraphernalia that could in no way be identified at the pace they ran, and the atmosphere was booming with life. It was clutter-filled, almost unnavigable, had the feel of a maze just by sheer visual stimuli overload, and had a population density level that should be illegal. Birds in cages, raw seafood giving the air around them a scent that could make those unfamiliar gag at a mere whiff, sounds of chatter, clatter, tatter, and rattle that couldn't be processed humanly, and a feeling that the street, with all of its occupants, would never end. The people there, despite the overly vicarious vibe being given off, seemed unaffected by everything that was going on around them, as if being stuck in a human swamp of springing vitality was more than normal. So when they saw the trio shoving and shifting their way through the crowds being followed by even more militia doing the same, it only added to the atmosphere of endless energy that already flooded the plaza.

Alphard led the pack by jamming her way through the crowds of stocky, tall, and spacious individuals that blocked their way. Canaan struggled with her frail body, bumping into walls of human anatomy, but was able to swivel her way through with her nimble feet and small physique, keeping close behind Alphard in front of her. Siam, on the other hand, powered his way through, using his strong body, braced by his thick forearms, to clear the way of people In front of him. When he passed a merchant store selling accessorized pieces and fabrics, he slipped his hand on the table and nipped three scarves, to the merchant's natural rage. He tucked them deep into the side of his pants and wrapped the ends around his arm, serving as a cushion for the crowds. Before he passed a merchant selling eyewear and sunglasses, he stuck his hand out again and stole three pairs of shades, to the merchant's rapid indignation. With his height serving as an asset, he could see Alphard and Canaan making their way to the end of the plaza where they would be exposed without the bustling bazaar. Behind him, the militia continued their frantic yelling, which grew louder still.

Alphard could see that she was nearing the end of the street after she bumped her way through another bunch of men standing near a merchant's table. There was a narrow alley choked between a large building with black remnants of dried mildew tracing its base and another smaller structure which seemed to tilt at a precarious angle. It appeared to be a good escape route where they could avoid being surrounded and not have to worry about an innumerable amount of militia having their way with them. She looked behind her to see that the girl was following, though a few paces behind, with a tall Siam not too far away. When she turned her head forward anew, she saw a footman sprint in from the street perpendicular her targeted cutoff and, annoyingly, impede her itinerary.

Even though there was a multitude of people streaming the bazaar, the guard raised his assault rifle at Alphard. She was genuinely flattered that the soldier would aim his weapon at her and risk the lives of innocent civilians just for her sake.

Flattered but, nonetheless, amused.

After taking a long step in her stride, she swung at the rifleman with a vicious left which he blocked with the end of his rifle. Relentless, she raised her right leg and swung at the side of his upper body, meeting his ribcage with the instep of her rugged black boot. She could hear, even through his anatomy and among all the noise of the plaza, that she had shattered a rib, to which he responded with a yelp suppressed only by his desire to counter vengefully; he shuffled his rifle from where he had stalled her initial attack and aimed it in her direction. While his momentum carried, she mangled her right hand past the barrel of the rifle and swiped at the trigger guard while simultaneously taking her left hand, placing it near the rifle stock, and pivoting it downward so the muzzle was aimed at his foot. She encouraged him to pull the trigger with a menacing smirk. The soldier didn't reciprocate; quite the contrary, he gestured awkwardly at the futile position and grimaced while trying to struggle away from the ominous predicament. When she saw that he wasn't going to do it himself, she pulled the trigger for him.

The bullet tore through the tough boot material, shredded through sinew, and seared through his skin, leaving a gashing hole where a healthy, functional foot once was. The sound propagated with a mighty bang that resounded through the whole plaza and made everyone within proximity engage in contagious hysteria. Screams permeated the air and the entire plaza began to flee the scene in fear for their lives. The overpopulated, frantic nature of the plaza was intensified by a scurry from each and every person to leave immediately with whatever they had while leaving whatever they didn't so they wouldn't lose their lives. A tussle-filled, hellified breakout of sporadically scattering civilians ensued while the presence of alerted militia, further cautioned by the loud bang, exasperated.

Alphard finished the soldier off by jerking the center of her knee into his spline and smashing her fist into the side of his face, gloriously blasting every knuckle into his left cheek for a devastating blow. He landed disgruntled on the ground, his assault rifle swiveling through the air and landing further behind him. He was incapacitated and would be for some time.

She thought he would have given her more of a challenge since he had the advantage of a preemptive strike. She looked at his wrangled body with a disappointed sneer before she jogged purposefully into the tight alley.

Canaan and Siam followed in her steed, running past an unconscious soldier's body into the alley where Alphard led. She was hard to keep up with because of her fast-moving pace and quick change in directions, which she felt necessary in order to elude their pursuers.

At a certain point, Alphard came upon a dead-end barred off by a stone-walled impasse they wouldn't be able to scale. The screams of the footmen drew closer, growing in volume while warning her that they would soon be cornered off. She saw an opening to her right that led into an apartment. She'd rather not, but had little choice available. When she saw Canaan and Siam, she signaled to them with a hand wave that they would take a detour through the building and disappeared through the opening.

Canaan heard screams from inside the building, probably suggestive of her intruding on a civilian family. When Canaan turned inside, she saw that Alphard held her firearm in the air while gesturing to a defensive mother and frightened daughter with an index finger in front of her lips. The family members remained silent, not wanting to excite the threatening black-haired girl with the gun in her hand. Alphard's shoulders moved up and down while she recovered from their long-winding sprint. Canaan panted as well, leaning against her knees to catch her breath. Siam ran in shortly afterwards, reclining against the wall of the entrance and peeking to see if they had evaded the tenacious militia. They could still hear their indecipherable screams of orders being given, footsteps being taken, and the racket of weaponry as soldiers closed in on their position.

Siam communicated to Alphard by pointing his finger in the air and hinting at the staircase behind her. The trio climbed the stairs to an empty dining room area where they lied in wait. Siam stood behind the wall just before the entryway cleared into the dining room while Alphard pointed her gun at the stairway on the opposite side. Canaan would have prepared her weapon as well, but chose to leave the task to her companions who were obviously far more experienced than she was.

The smell of incense permeated the apartment. There were pictures on the wall of the traditional, yet happy family. Alternatives to cigarettes sat on the dining room table. Canaan often saw people chewing on the contents inside those boxes around her hometown.

There was a cross on the wall. She wasn't used to seeing them. She was more accustom to the crescent moon, but didn't know what either really meant. With the people in the region, religion and smoking went hand in hand, though she still found it an odd combination: Trinity and tobacco.

They could hear the sound of footsteps enter from below…

A conversation with the woman downstairs…

Infuriation, an out lash in the form of interrogative screaming…

Loud thuds, followed by more yelling…

Crying…

Then, more footsteps, some of which climbed the stairs in their direction…

Alphard spotted the soldier first and turned her head towards Siam. She pointed in the soldier's direction, silently deliberating with Siam whether or not she could take him. He eyed her, shook his head, and pointed at himself. She shrugged.

When the soldier crossed the threshold into the dining room area, Siam grabbed him from behind, placed both hands on either side of his head, and abruptly pivoted his hands sideways, breaking his neck. He didn't want the soldier to crash onto the floor and cause the militia downstairs to grow suspicious, so he sat him down gently against the wall. The soldier's head hung awkwardly on one shoulder, gravity finally able to take full effect on his lifeless corpse.

They wanted to see whether or not more militia would come up the stairs, a mentally tedious waiting game since they didn't have any intention of involving harmless civilians in their homicidal tirade. More orders were given and footsteps were heard leaving, growing faint as they faded back into the intricate alleyways and town streets. Siam led the trio back down the stairs. They indeed saw that the soldiers had left the apartment to search elsewhere, their high-strung pace for the murderers' capture convincing them to leave behind their comrade upstairs.

Siam wasn't happy about what he saw had become of the mother. They were both still alive but the mother was sprawled out along the dirty floor with blood coming from her head. The little girl had been tugging at her mother to get up, but she could only respond with a groan tantamount to the affliction she had sustained.

Alphard examined the scene and stood against the wall while the little girl continued to implore her mother to stand up so they could get away from the trio, who were probably more dangerous than the mean man that hit her. She was much younger than Alphard or Canaan, wore a pink summer dress that was marked with splotches of dirt from playing outside, and brown hair that reached down to the center of her back in long strands. Siam approached them, kneeled down to the girl's level, though she was still frightened, and asked the girl if he could help. Canaan watched while taking a seat on one of the steps leading to the second floor, observing the gentle side Siam had shown her when she needed just as much help as the girl's mother only the day before.

"Come on," Alphard advised, "we can't stay here for long. You know they're going to come back to see what happened to their buddy."

Siam ignored her suggestion, asked Alphard to give him the bag she had been carrying on her back, and removed the first aid kit. The contusion on the side of her head had already begun swelling. He applied a topical steroid, removed the excess blood still coming from her head with a wet towel, applied an anti-bacterial cream for safe keeping, and then covered her wound using a large bandage which he cut short when the wrapping was just tight enough. He then packed up all the materials back inside the small box and put them inside the bag for when they would be used again. The little girl watched him take care her mother, instantly changing the way she felt about the tall and rugged man, along with the two taller girls, from when they had entered earlier. He sat the mother down upright against the couch on the near wall, subsequently telling the little girl further instructions;

"Make sure that your mommy's head stays up straight" he emphasized in a tone children could respond more readily to. "Don't let her get up and walk around unless she goes straight to a doctor who can take better care of her."

The little girl nodded in approval.

"If any other bad guys come in here," he forewarned with an ironic hint in his voice, "don't try to fight them, alright? You can only do so much at your age and you don't need to have your mommy worrying about you on top of what happened to her."

Again, she affirmed his orders with an innocent nod, a gesture of obedience as well as gratitude.

"Thank you, mister" she said with a small blush on her face, somewhat embarrassed while she twirled the tip of her small sandal against the rough, unfeeling ground, creating irregular circles which were barely visible. "Here."

She pulled out a pocket-sized compass with a small bead hanging off the side. It was encased in a locket which popped open to reveal a professional, carbon-black design with trims of white encircling its circumference.

"You'll probably need it more than we do, mister" she remarked ostensibly.

Siam recognized the gift from the little girl as a token of appreciation she could express only in the way a child could do so well: genuinely. He gently removed it from her hand, examined its sturdy and durable structure, and closed the locket, placing it in his pocket.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Siam was once again bipedal. He looked at Alphard, who had a subtle smile on her face, and Canaan, who had a nostalgic comport on her face, remembering the same thing he had done for her. He walked towards the opposite exit, stopped for a moment, and turned to the little girl to tell her one final instruction:

"Don't go upstairs until your mother or somebody else does first, OK?"

"OK."

The girl watched the trio exit the same door the militia had gone through. She could hear that her mommy was still in pain but knew that she would be alright thanks to the tall and rugged man who had helped her to feel a little bit better. She wanted to see the nice man again but had a feeling that she never would.

* * *

"We should have stopped in the next damn town instead of getting stuck in this militia-infested dump" Alphard grunted while hiding behind another wall overlooking a street where swarms of militia prospered.

"The people around these parts aren't too fond of localized militaries and try their best to do without them but don't have enough support, no thanks to people like ourselves."

"Well, they sure as hell do make it hard on us."

"I'm thinking it's the other way around" Canaan spoke, finally making her presence known amongst the trio with a sarcastic retort. Alphard looked at her thin body, her small, slender face, and silver-beige eyes with an unaccepting regard but pleasant smirk. Canaan wasn't as scared of her eyes as when she'd first seen them.

"We try our best to go about our business, but they just won't leave us alone. It's been like this for some time now and makes me wonder if they'll ever let up."

"If we do get to the next town, we won't have to worry about militias hunting us since that town is under the functional jurisdiction of another country. The airports and embassies are heavily guarded by trained soldiers, ground-to-air missile defenses, and an arsenal of security. As long as we stay under the radar and don't give them a reason to search for us, then we won't have to feel ill-at-ease or worry about soldiers doing as they please."

"Sounds good to me" Alphard acknowledged.

"But we won't be going there in the meantime."

Alphard cringed, her dreams of tranquility shot down.

"We'll be going to a place located in a mountainous terrain just east of here. One of my clients from a few months back had a place there and told me about its location after I eliminated one of his problems."

"If you say so. But we're gonna have to get out this town first before we can start thinking about anything else."

"We'll get out."

Siam tossed Alphard one of the scarves, a thick, dark blue fabric which was long enough to wrap around her neck several times. Canaan received a red one, which she promptly sported, creating a bowtie knot behind her neck. Siam wrapped his turquoise scarf around his neck and left a trail hanging just off his shoulder and a bundled space in the front with which he could cover the lower half of his face.

"How's a fashion statement going to help us?" Alphard questioned while wrapping the scarf around her neck like Canaan and he had already done.

Siam pointed up.

The sky had begun to change colors, its bright blue shade being permeated by a setting fog of golden dust; it was as if the air surrounding them was being consumed by a haze of heavily assembling sheets of amber ash, continually stacking as the air itself became a desert. The winds had picked up, rolling from their feet in swooping passes and trailing upwards until they dissipated into turbulent gusts, only to blown anew shortly after. Eventually, the air turned into an ominously darkened, almost metallic shade that eclipsed the sky itself. There was virtually no visibility. The air became toxic to breathe, filling the lungs with dangerous amounts of dust. Besides the manically spurred militia who continued to probe every avenue looking for the trio, the streets were cleared of any civilian presence. And naturally so.

No one would want to get caught in a sandstorm.

* * *

Siam tossed Canaan and Alphard each a pair of shades which they could use to cover their eyes from being bombarded by the golden particles covering the town in a sinister shroud of terror. He placed his scarf-turned-bandana over his nose and cloaked the lower part of his face, Canaan and Alphard doing the same. With the elements working in their favor, Siam took point and led them through the streets while being cautious of the militia who were surely still hunting for them. They could only hear the chime of wind slashing past them, an ghastly sound that added a convoluted thrill to their edgy surroundings. Alphard kept her gun out, just in case the sand-filled air they roamed through wasn't enough to distract bloodthirsty foot-soldiers still searching the town.

Siam caught sight of a heavily defended lot where many of the militia would station their vehicles when they weren't in use. The entrance was fenced, which wasn't a problem for them to traverse. Siam needed to find a truck they could use to escape without alerting any more of the riflemen still looking for them. His desert savvy shades serving as his aide, he saw a soldier standing next to the military operations building, which really had turned into a hotspot for the local militia to be bored out of their minds when they couldn't find anything else to do. He gestured to Alphard behind him with a clutched fist held at a right angle, which she understood as him telling them to wait. He snuck up behind the man, held him at gunpoint, and started with a question:

"Got any keys?" he asked, eyeing the lot full of trucks they could steal. The soldier reached down in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys which he held at the side of his body. Siam could easily tell that the soldier was about to try to be a hero, so he kicked his feet from out beneath him, causing him to fall flat on his back with a loud thud. He stepped on his chest with his boot and aimed the gun at his mouth so he wouldn't scream for help.

"I'll take those" he insisted while bending down to reach for the keys the man had dropped. "Now, tell me which truck these are for and I'll let you go without leaving your brains in the sand."

The man pointed at the truck just across the lot a few paces away.

"Thanks" he said after which he violently kicked the man beside the head, knocking him out indefinitely.

He signaled to Alphard and Canaan with a forward flick of his hand that they were going in the direction of the truck. They followed, though his frame seemed more like a phantom-like silhouette gliding through the lot in the thick, golden haze that descended upon them. Siam started the truck, allowing Canaan and Alphard time to jump into the backseat, and indiscriminately stepped on the pedal, peeling off the pavement with a screeching skid and loud engine exhaust as they sped past several guards stationed at the entrance, broke the crossbar permitting entry, and headed east through the thick sheets of rolling sand. Alphard returned fire at the militia shooting at the fleeing vehicle, eliminating several footmen along their path; a trained sequence, she would duck into the cabin, her legs scrunched between the forward and back seats, and shift on her knees while putting her arms over the side of the truck and pulling the trigger at whatever figures she could see in the storm. Canaan kept her head down while gripping the sidebar of the door for stability due to Siam's high-octane, breakneck driving through the bumpy streets and past the militia. He kept his free hand armed, shooting at whatever enemy Alphard couldn't see or wasn't able to attend to. The bandit spree throughout the town came to end when Siam broke through the east gate, running over a militiaman who thought that his body could somehow stop a truck but discovered otherwise, and speeding through the blinding storm outside of the town perimeter.

They hurried through the storm at a steady pace, though Siam could barely see anything in front of him. The size of the storm must have been humungous if they were still in its wake when considering how much ground they quickly covered. At a certain juncture, the storm began to clear, and the rumble that had eclipsed their sight was no longer. Particles of sand drifted in the air, but, as Canaan could see while turning her head to look behind her, they had left the large, sweeping formation and could see as it swallowed the entirety of the town, their escape now assured.

They could see again. The golden layers of dust on the ground. The mountains standing in the distance. The sky brimming above them. Alphard lifted her shades to the top of her head and removed the scarf from the lower part of face, as did Siam, and Canaan as well. A feeling of relief sunk over them. The path ahead of them was clear.

But their troubles weren't over yet as they saw the sight of two trucks emerge from the storm, chasing them still.

* * *

"Wow" Alphard exclaimed in a humorous tone. "These guys aren't lacking in persistence."

The trucks caught up with them at a considerably fast rate. Alphard saw that each truck had two gunmen along with a driver. Siam handed Alphard an AK-47 along with a magazine for her to use, which had been sitting on the passenger seat in the front when they stole it. She loaded the magazine and pulled the charging handle back with a characteristic rattle only heavy weaponry could make. The hair hanging down the side of her head and floating down her forehead batted in the fast-moving wind, somewhat obstructing her vision, but not enough to mess with her line of fire. She aimed at the truck closing in on them and fired several bursts at the riflemen riding in the back, who responded with shots of their own. Alphard ducked when several of the bullets grazed past her, shredding strands of her hair on the side of her head, which threw her in disarray and thrilled her at the same time. She sat and breathed heavily while regaining her composure. She was frustrated and it showed on her face. Again, she went up, her brows scrunched in anger, and shot at one of the trucks, killing a shooter.

"I need another mag, Siam!" she yelled as she cleared the rifle of the magazine.

"Last one" he noted while handing her the magazine with his free hand. She loaded it and fired at the driver this time, one of the bullets piercing through his neck. He no longer had control of the wheel; the truck veered sideways, swerved, and flipped, tumbling several times before settling on the desert floor. Dust spewed into the air where it settled, its wheels spun uselessly, and the other rifleman was sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.

She didn't have many bullets left in the mag and she knew it. She aimed the rifle at the remaining truck and fired at the driver. He spun the wheel, dodging many of her bursts until her rifle emptied. They responded with shots of their own, many of them riddling the truck, and one of them shredding through the fuel silage. Gas leaked out of the puncture and streamed onto the desert floor.

Alphard switched to her handgun, which she knew wouldn't be as efficient. She couldn't let the truck advance without shooting at it. She held the gun with both hands and shot at the militia standing in the backseat, the loud gun sounds ringing in her ears. She hit one of them in the shoulder. He fell backwards while screaming, and tumbled brutally onto the desert sand.

She was out of ammo.

"Siam!"

"I'm out!"

"Don't we have some weapons in the bag!?"

"Yeah, but no magazines to supply them!"

Siam looked at the fuel gauge and saw that it was depleting rapidly. The truck was slowing down. He immediately assumed that the gas tank had been compromised since it was full when they exited the sandstorm. They were running out of options.

Alphard, to her surprise, looked to her left and saw that the girl was holding her Beretta and aiming at the truck. She didn't hold it as well as she and Siam would, but with just enough stability to keep the gun from heckling her with its recoil. She had a stern look on her face, one Alphard hadn't seen until then. The determination in her silver-beige eyes was enough to let her know that that the girl wasn't a pushover. And after she heard the gun fire and saw that she almost killed the shooter in the back of the pursuing truck, Alphard knew that the girl could be a soldier.

She was good with a gun.

The shooter in the back retaliated to his near-death experience by shooting several bursts at Canaan. One of the bullets ricocheted off the end of the truck, split, and pierced through her upper arm. She screamed in agony.

"Canaan!"

Alphard would have went to help her but was petrified by what she saw in the girl's eyes.

They swirled. Alphard could perceive it in no other way. They changed from their unusual silver-beige and burned, turning from a frail girl's eyes to a crimson filled, mirage-like spectacle of deepening colors that couldn't possibly be real. Their depth had grown immensely, as if Alphard could sink into the vermillion lustered hues and drown in the color of her luminous eyes.

The bright, awakening color.

* * *

An injury like the one she had sustained would have easily impeded Alphard from performing well, but Canaan was unaffected. With her glowing eyes, she aimed the gun, this time with an almost veteran stance, and fired three shots at the driver. He absorbed all of them quite readily: one that went through his heart, one that entered his neck, and one that cracked the bridge of his nose, all of which would have easily killed him by themselves but expedited his demise that much more quickly. The soldier in the back fired what remaining bullets he could, some of which hit the desert floor, before Canaan eliminated him with uncanny accuracy. The truck careened, turned on its side, and dragged before it finally stopped in the desert sand. Blood trailed from behind the wreckage where their bodies lay in the heat of the morning sun.

Alphard looked at the girl's eyes and noticed, to her bewilderment, that they had returned to normal.

_What the fuck._

Unfortunately for them, the militia's efforts weren't without consequence. When Alphard turned her head back to the desert floor, the fuel they had been leaking had sparked, ignited, and, hauntingly enough, followed.

_Aw, shit._

"Siam!" she shrieked, "ditch the truck! Now!"

Siam didn't need to hear it twice to obey that kind of anxiety in her voice. He promptly jumped out the side of the truck. Alphard wrapped Canaan in her arms, cradled her tightly, and jousted herself out the truck. The spark climbed up the leaking side, let itself into the fuel tank, and combusted.

Before they stopped tumbling on the desert floor, they could hear the truck explode and disintegrate, burning shrapnel and lifting metal in the air before crashing in the sand around them. Pieces scattered into the ground and sent acute, grinding noises drifting through the sultry desert.

* * *

"Hey!" Canaan called, "come on, get up. Alphard."

Alphard's head throbbed. She had been laying on the hot sand for quite some time, resting her semi-unconscious body on a bed of scorching sand. Her body ached while she raised it from the merciless sand, now blazing with the sun coasting overhead. Déjà vu.

Her clothes were shredded and dirty. She had sustained many cuts and bruises from rolling in the sand. The girl, unsurprisingly to Alphard, was almost unscathed, except for the wound on her upper arm which had been tended to. She hadn't thought that the girl would be the one to wake her, but wasn't surprised since she was the one that shielded her thin body from being battered by the rough ground. She looked at Canaan tiredly with a look of pure curiosity and genuine misunderstanding.

Canaan did the same, only with a somewhat neutral, barely noticeable smile sitting on her face, grateful.

Alphard had so many damn questions but decided not to ask.

She turned and looked at the burning debris of the truck they ejected from. Siam had been wandering through the desert sand, collecting what remained of their provisions from the crash. He was in no better condition than she was with his clothes shredded into rags and torn into bits of drifting fabric, though his shirt and pants were still intact to some degree. He approached the two after having picked up whatever was left of their supplies and started;

"You OK, Alphard?"

"No."

He smiled. "As long as you're alive, then you shouldn't complain."

"Well, I think I have the right to."

"We're not too far from where my client's place is. It's a few kilometers from where we are now." He handed Alphard her handgun which he had picked up near the debris. She took it by the handle and placed it behind her belt at the side of her waist.

"'Only a few kilometers' is undershooting the distance in this heat."

"It's just near those mountains. We'll get there eventually."

She rose to her feet, dusted herself off, and responded: "Eventually is probably going to be a long time."

"If we start now, we'll arrive mid-afternoon." He began to walk in the direction of the mountainous terrain with his arms in his jacket pocket. "If you want to get away from the desert, sitting in the sand won't help."

Canaan ran behind him in a skipping motion, her energy showing even under the sizzling sun. Alphard shuffled her feet in their tracks, though reluctantly since they had to travel through the desert without transportation.

* * *

Canaan coughed. They'd been walking for half an hour. Alphard had taken off her jacket and remained in a white tank-top with the scarf Siam had given her sitting on her head. Sweat dripped down her arms and seeped into the lacerations she had gotten after the wreck, stinging continuously. Siam had shed his extra layers as well and marched through the heated landscape with only a torn tank-top and his jacket slung wearily over his head. Canaan coughed again. Siam turned his head and peered at her with his periphery, turning his head forward again after a quiet moment had lapsed.

Alphard didn't know what to think of the girl. She looked at the back of her silky hair in awe-struck wonder. She pondered as to whether or not her own eyes could change colors as well.

Canaan coughed again, this time hoarsely. Alphard concluded that some of the dust back in the sandstorm must have gotten in her system. Albeit bothersome, it shouldn't have affected her _that_ much with the bandana she covered her mouth with while escaping the storm.

Her stride began to drift.

"You OK, Canaan?" Siam asked.

"Y-yeah. I… I'm fine… you don't have to worry abou…"

She began to fall forward. She landed flat on the sand, the dust clearing beneath her.

"Canaan!"

Siam stopped to check on her condition. She was still breathing but very lightly. Her face tightened in pain and her body moved sparingly. It was obvious that she couldn't continue of her own accord.

"She must be exhausted."

"The heat will do that to you" Alphard replied indifferently.

Siam gave whatever provisions he had to Alphard, lifted the girl, and slung her over his back while leveraging her weight with his arms underneath her legs. He stood and began walking again. Her arms fell motionlessly over his shoulder, swaying in rhythm with his dutiful stride. Her head was turned against his back, eyes closed.

Alphard didn't say anything to Siam while they walked through the desert toward the goldenrod mountains in the distance. She had a lot on her mind but decided to let them boil while she suffered silently in the steaming, ubiquitous sulfur wasteland that was the desert. They had a long distance to travel. She didn't need to weigh her mind down thinking as well as melting.

_I wonder if there's any cacti around._


	5. Chapter 4 - Squalor

_Author's Note –_ Again, it took me a while to write this one. I'm not slacking! I've been doing a lot of chores and homework and stuff, so… yeah, lol. I got like a lot of reviews (a whopping total of three!), one of which was from aksonchick which said that I should add more dialogue. I tried to accommodate the request, though I still ended up with a crap ton of other stuff as well. Tell me what you guys think and thank you for reading!

* * *

Chapter 4 – Squalor

"You want me to do what?" Alphard asked, pissed.

"Switch."

"No."

Siam turned his head to look at Alphard. Sweat dripped down his face in copious amounts. His arms were heavy-laden with Canaan's weight and the loads of perspiration which continued to rain down his arms and flood his upper body. Alphard could see the wounds he sported on the exposed parts of his body. Some of them were fresh after having tumbled incessantly through the desert sand while many, if not a majority, were scars, having torn deep into his flesh and leaving their marks. They were remnants of his past, covered with layers of still more faded cuts atop his arms and hands. The red slashes were conspicuous in number but novice in experience compared with the innumerable traces of war covering his upper body.

His response wasn't what she expected and left her somewhat befuddled:

"How far are we away from those mountains?"

"What?" she replied, though she had perfectly understood what he said. "Umm… probably another two or three hours away if we continue at our pace."

"How much water do we have?"

The mere mention of water was enough to make her thirstier. She knew, however, that they didn't have much except for two or three canteens Siam still had with him.

"Not very much."

"Who do you think needs the water the most?"

Alphard looked at him through the swinging fabric sitting above her head. The girl was still unconscious while she rode on his back.

"Not her."

"You, then?"

"Sure" she responded honestly. She really didn't mind the prospect of having water flow through her weary, parched body being dragged through the desert.

"OK."

"What do you mean, 'OK?'"

"Take the rest of the water."

"But what about you?" she remarked after taking a step over a perilous rock lodged into the desert sand. "You definitely won't make it there if you don't keep yourself hydrated, especially while carrying her on your back."

Alphard realized what she just said.

"You argue my case for me."

_Damnit._

* * *

The girl wasn't as heavy as Alphard thought she'd be, though she struggled still; the extra weight was a nuisance. She had slung her jacket over the girl to shield her from the sun's merciless rays while her moist scarf sat on her head and grew heavier while absorbing the perspiration from the top of her head, neck, and upper arms. Siam was liberated from the heat to some degree as he drank from one of the canteens he had with him. Alphard's brows were scrunched in his direction, nearly growling at him in jealousy and for having added a burden she had no desire to carry. She could feel as the girl weighed on her each time she placed her foot against the ground, pushing her down. The unneeded tugging was so debilitating that she imagined her lower body being engulfed by quicksand each time her feet met the ground. It was a torturous illusion brought on again by her resentment of the desert and the lack of sympathy she had for the girl while carrying her along.

Her overstressed body encouraging her, she complained silently to herself while following Siam beneath the veil her scarf created. She hated the girl. She already had become quite bothersome and, after what she had seen while fleeing from the militia, an enigma that she couldn't solve.

_Was I hallucinating? Her eyes were blazing… I must be losing my mind._

The region they were in was notorious for opioids, hallucinogens, and narcotics which all but left the user dead after even a small dose. They were extremely powerful and riddled the user with sometimes long-term symptoms that lasted even beyond the high. They could be extracted from some of the rare desert plants which grew in small patches in the region. She had seen her fair share of medicinal products in drug and convenience stores while traveling with Siam, some of which he used for their injuries. If the plants' potency could be experienced by airborne exposure, she concluded, at some point, that she must have taken a trip when she saw the girl's eyes glow. She knew, however, that her mind was wandering – such an explanation didn't suffice in more ways than one. She blamed the heat.

In her unbound search to find an explanation, she was fooling herself. Soon, she'd be seeing beautiful oases placed conveniently in the desert, all of which would be figments of her subconscious streaming rubbish into her already spaced-out mind.

Although she could do without the girl on her back, it was comforting to know that she had someone around her age to travel with. Siam was much older than she and it showed in his rugged voice and distant demeanor. He would always ramble on about something she didn't really care about. Since she couldn't get rid of her, maybe she could teach her a few things she had learned while traveling with Siam. Silky silver strands of her hair streamed onto her right shoulder and fell past her neck, adding a touch of warm comfort where she would otherwise be a smoldering pile of burnt out debris.

At the moment, she could only see the girl as an inconvenience while she felt the slight tingle of her drool sitting on her shoulder.

Siam wiped his mouth of the excess water and put the canteen near his side. It drifted more freely, emptied of its contents. She dared him to drink the other canteen.

With her hands supporting the girl's weight, Alphard paced her stride to be as efficient as possible, seeing only the back of Siam's tall figure. After a long moment of his walking and her struggling, he spoke, his tone sovereign in the unforgiving desert;

"How you holding up back there?"

"I've been better" she let out with a voice of malice.

"You'll be alright. I'll carry her again when we get to the last stretch."

"I'm not enjoying this."

"I wasn't either. It's not the best feeling having to carry extra weight that you feel unnecessary."

"Yeah, no kidding."

His voice grew stern. "But there is no choice as to whether or not you should carry your comrades. Their burden becomes yours and you carry both."

"At least this one isn't too heavy."

"Why the reluctance? You blatantly denied me when I asked you the first time."

"Does it look like I want to carry anything more in this heat? The desert is already overbearing; the girl doesn't make it any easier."

"Her name is-"

"I know what her name is" she interjected while straining her feet forward through a rigid patch of sand. The girl bumped into her shoulder after she took a long step, adding injury to burdensome insult.

"Do you have a problem with it?"

"I…! I just…"

Nothing would come out. Instead of saying something she would regret, she kept her mouth closed, left his question hanging, and her feelings hidden. She didn't want to lash out while she and her emotions had been boiling. Keeping the sentiment to herself proved the better alternative.

Siam didn't pry. He could tell that she didn't want to answer, and he respected that. She was going to have to get used to her comrade's name one way or another. They continued in silence momentarily, the heat as deafening as their lack of communication. The dirt on the ground had begun to clear to some degree, becoming a continuous ivory foundation beneath their feet. It was as hard as the golden, dusty terrain, if not rougher, and reflected the sun's rays far more than the granulated terrain which faded behind them. Siam continued;

"Even though we have no military commitment, I trained you as a soldier. And, as such, you shouldn't feel the burden of having to carry your comrade. She's just as worthwhile to carry as you are or any other soldier, even though she may not be trained yet."

"She's not bad with the Beretta…" Alphard muttered underneath her breath.

"?" Siam turned and looked in her direction.

"No, it's nothing."

"It seems like you aren't too interested in having a new ally."

"Not really."

"You'll get used to her. I'm sure of it."

"I'd really like to get her off my back."

Siam smiled. Alphard took the desert trip one step at a time. The only drops of moisture the ground quickly absorbed came from her sweating body. She could only look forward to when she would be relieved of the girl and when she could finally take a nice, cold shower away from the heat.

Alphard thought that Siam could answer the questions which were still floating around in her mind. She doubt he could, due to the sheer absurdity of what she had seen. But maybe he knew about it. She began after having inhaled while lifting her back foot, avoiding a dubious mound in the ground;

"Siam" she called.

"Yeah?"

"Is there anything you ever heard of that can… um…"

"That can what?"

"…that can make people's eyes glow?"

Siam turned and looked at Alphard with his periphery before turning his head forward again. He rolled his shoulder twice before letting out a sigh, never losing stride all the while. He appeared to have been alleviated of a burden she couldn't see him carrying.

"So you saw it?"

"Saw what?"

"Her eyes."

Alphard wasn't surprised that he knew about it. It was convenient. She didn't have to figure out the girl's anomaly on her own.

"While we were fleeing from the militia and after she got hit, her eyes changed colors."

"Did they turn red?"

"Crimson is more like it. Seems like you know more about them than you're letting on."

"I only know what she told me."

"Then you do know about them."

"I haven't seen them in action. I don't know what effects it has on her, at least practically. Did you notice anything?"

"After her eyes changed, she shot her gun better than you" she joked. Conversing with Siam was a welcome relief from having to suffer in the heat while carrying the girl.

"I don't know about that," Siam responded amusingly, "but I wouldn't doubt that her abilities would augment."

"Wait, so when her eyes change color, she shoots better?"

"The girl has never held a gun until yesterday. I doubt that she's accustomed to shooting, let alone killing, like we are unless it comes naturally to her."

"You give her too much credit" she denounced, though she couldn't doubt the way she had eliminated the militia with such ease. The shots were all on point, despite their high speed and the driver's attempts at dodging the bullets. Alphard acknowledged that not even she would be able to pull off those kills without difficulty.

"I might be. But even you saw that something changed after her eyes turned red. Not to mention that she has a natural affinity toward guns."

"What does that mean? Sure, kids like guns. But not more than superficially. They don't know the damage weapons can do to other people."

"I agree. But she might be different. After I found her in the deserted town, she kept looking at the gun I had near my waist. I noticed and asked her what was wrong but all she asked me was 'Why didn't my gun have a color?'"

Alphard was baffled. She felt like slinging the girl off her back and leaving her there in the desert. Not only was she extra weight, but she was a total mystery as well. She wondered now if the girl was blind or if both she and Siam had been hallucinating. Everything that they both were saying was surrealistic and beyond belief.

"'No color?' Does she see in black and white?" Alphard inquired in a joking but somewhat serious manner.

"I don't think that's it."

"Does she see in red? Is that why her eyes change color like that?"

"I don't know. All she told me was that the sun was 'blue' and, like I said before, that my gun had no color."

"Whatever" Alphard dismissed abruptly. "I don't want to know about the colors and I don't really care." She was genuine. The details of her eyes were beyond her understanding and she probably wouldn't get much perspective unless the girl explained her own eyes herself.

"You should know about the people you fight with" Siam responded, alluding to the trio's future together.

…

"I won't mention the eyes anymore. All you need to know is that she can really see in _color_. You'll probably know all about it before you know it."

Alphard continued to tread behind Siam's steed, following his footsteps almost automatically. She had no will to continue. Siam turned, stopped, and addressed Alphard:

"Alright. I'll carry her now."

Alphard thought the words would never come out his mouth. She quickly put a halt to her stride, bent down to one knee, and waited for Siam to take her position. She breathed heavily. Her whole upper body was stiff in addition to her burning legs which stung from having to carry more than they were accustomed with. Once the weight was off, she rose to her feet, sweat trailing down every part of her upper body, and stretched her arms in the air, restoring the liberty which so readily flowed through her shoulders. Siam stood to his feet, the girl hanging gently on his back, and began walking toward the towering mountains, which were ever-so-close, even with the sheets of infrared drifting boundlessly and warping their vision. Siam led, Alphard walking beside them, occasionally turning her head to look at the white-haired girl sleeping on his shoulder. Her scarf fluttered in the incessant desert wind, wrapped lightly around her neck, while she eyed the rising, ragged formations before them, hoping that she'd be able to get away from the desert's inescapable embrace.

* * *

Canaan woke up on a cozy bed. Her eyes were met with dark planks of wood covering her in a well lit room. She raised her upper body with her arms first and looked around the room curiously, wondering as to where she was and how she had gotten there. There was nothing in the room but wooden planks characteristic of a cabin. When she looked to her left, there was a bedside table with her red scarf hanging off the side and her gun on top. There was a window, that otherwise would have left the room as a box of wood, which overcast the wall to her left. It was open, letting a warm but gentle breeze flow inside the room. When she breathed, she didn't feel the constant inhalation of minute particles of sand that enveloped the air in the desert and its towns. Rather, it was soothing. Though the room itself didn't have much going for it, she was at ease just by being there. When she got up and looked out the window, she came across a much different sight than what she had seen in the past few hours.

Not cacti. There were actual trees. Lush and luminous trees sprouting teal shaded leaves from branches being paraded back in forth in the wind's gentle cradle. The leaves were above her, some of which fell occasionally on the ground. A few meters from her outlook was a cutoff going deep into an area she couldn't see and starting again on the other side. It traveled far in both directions, beyond where her still tired eyes could reach. The terrain still carried remnants of a desert, but far more inviting. It was a rusty, fulvous shade that undulated in spiral like curves, curving in downward slopes at the edge of the gorge a few paces away. Evident of erosion by water, the rocks must have overlooked a river, which seemed to reflect on their darkening layers as they descended where she couldn't see.

When she looked past the expanse, there were still more trees growing along the rocks with grass growing around them. The mountains, which now seemed like oversized, malformed hills, stood high above the trees, their height not as intimidating as the desert made them out to be. The temperature in the area was temperate, much more so than the unforgiving sands which surrounded the paradisical escape where she had found herself. With the teeming blue sky above, she could appreciate a more beautiful side of nature she hadn't thought possible with her life having been spent in the plain, almost uniform desert. The panorama was dreamlike in beauty, friendly in atmosphere, and completely relaxing.

When she turned around and exited the door of the room, there was a restroom in front of her. At the end of the passageway to her right was a table which had sepia khaki pants and a maroon shirt folded neatly on top. She took the clothes inside the restroom, undressed, and entered the shower. When she turned the knob for cold water, it first came out hot, frustrating her slightly before it got colder. The plentiful streams of water rinsed the dust off her body, collecting in the basin, and subsequently draining. The cold water was refreshing after having been trapped for days, traveling through the desert, and fleeing militia. The frigid rush was enough to want to make her stay.

Ending her rejuvenating wash, she coughed, still signifying to her that she couldn't stress herself out too much or she'd end up back on that bed again. She turned off the shower, climbed out, put on her new clothes, left her old clothes in a basket near the basin, and exited the restroom, closing the door behind her. She put a towel on her head, shaking her short, silver hair dry by rubbing the towel in circular motions and letting it sit there for a while. Drips of water fell onto the creaky brown planks she walked upon as she entered a living room area with a kitchen on her right side. There was an island which cut the kitchen off from the rest of the room, a large refrigerator, and cabinets which were a brighter shade of brown than the old, splintered floors. When she looked to her left, there was a large T.V. sitting atop a table in the far corner accompanied by a couch, a loveseat, and random lawn chairs, which would, in any other living room, mess up the overall aesthetic, but seemed to compliment the small cabin. After removing the towel from her head and shaking her head dry, she noticed that there was a hot meal left for her on the counter in front of the kitchen. Siam and Alphard were nowhere in sight.

She proceeded to sit down on one of the stools in front of the counter and eat what was left for her, which was quite a lot. They probably noticed how famished she was and wanted her to eat to her heart's content. There were three or four triangular shaped pastries stuffed with warm meat inside of them, which she recognized as fatayer. There was a side dish filled with a round stack of bread, chewy and equally delicious. Along with the pastries was a bowl of soup filled with a cinnamon flavored broth, onions, parsley, sage, and pieces of lamb floating at the top along with some of the other ingredients. Then, she looked over at some weird-ass thing: a circular piece of flesh stuck between two buns, some other vegetable ingredients notwithstanding. She wasn't even going to try it. She heard that a lot of people in other countries thought they were awesome but she didn't care much for it. Her family never fed it to her and she wasn't too excited to try it.

_My family..._

She shook the thought from her mind. To avoid thinking about it, she looked at the last piece completing her meal. Yellow pieces of some material filled with white starch in the form of small kernels. She had seen those before but wasn't too keen on trying those, either. She went straight for what she was accustomed with, filling her body with much needed and wonderfully tasting food. The buttery taste of the bread lingered nostalgically, the soup was calming just as much as it was savory, and the pastries were appetizing, but could have been better. Even after eating so much, she still felt hungry to some degree as she eyed the flesh between two buns.

She took it in her hands, looked at it momentarily, as if to prepare herself for the unknown, and lunged in for a crunch, though she only took a small bite. She chewed, chewed, chewed…

_This is not so bad…_

She would have eaten more but decided that she would save the flesh sandwich along with its kernel counterpart for later; her appetite was appeased. She took the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator, threw away the scraps of her devoured meal, and cleared the counter. She then went to the living room and sat down on the couch facing the television. She switched it on with the remote sitting on the center table. There was a football game on, another football game, some sport where very large and strong men tackled each other for a ball and then would stop suddenly just to start the process over again, a news station talking about a neighboring country, a news station talking about two bandits wreaking havoc in local towns, and then a channel which piqued her interest: it showcased some of the training regimen of local soldiers, many of which were similar with the militia they had fled from. They demonstrated the weapons they carried, showing off the specifications of the military's newly obtained assault rifle, other handguns, and the coordinated march of their militia.

Canaan felt her eyes change. She let them. Sometimes it happened instinctively and other times it happened of her own volition. Much of her periphery darkened, but only so much to illuminate the targets that were in front of her. Her surroundings were replaced by only silhouettes of figures which moved in ribbon-like shears of continuously rotating swivels, maintaining the integrity of those objects but only enough that she knew they were there. It was a useful filter that allowed her to process what mattered and screen out much of which didn't. She couldn't quite describe it – it was something she was used to experiencing ever since she was young. Her vision was streaming, as if everything around her became an interface with which she could collect scores of information via color-coded visual stimuli. She wasn't obstructed by the unlimited amount of colors and shades she would see with her real vision. She saw auras. She saw color.

The man on the screen holding the gun was glowing blue while the journalist interviewing him had a fading haze of green emitting around his body. The assault rifle in his hands had no color.

She turned off the television shortly afterwards, not wanting to strain her eyes after just having woke from her fatigue-filled slump. The crimson in her eyes faded and eventually dissipated, leaving her silver-beige eyes and restoring her normal vision. She rubbed out her eyes and blinked them several times. Some effects lingered – odd, surrealistic light shows which would sporadically invade her vision and leave as quickly as they came along with the feeling that her eyes weren't in their sockets, as if they were floating in free space wistfully, though her vision was fully intact. When the residual symptoms were no more, she was at ease. There was a large, windowed clearance opposite the bedroom passageway overlooking another patch of trees which fluttered in the wind. The beautiful depth of the colors were much more complex than what she could see with her eyes. Luscious, vivid, illustrious.

That's why she liked her eyes: they made everything much simpler.

* * *

Before she rose to her feet, she heard the sound of footsteps coming from behind her. The sound of creaking, and then the rusty shrieking of the door at the hinges as Alphard and Siam entered. Alphard's hair was wet and so were the rest of her clothes. She didn't seem to mind. Siam carried some supplies on his back in a black backpack which he swung off his back and lay against the door. He was content to see her, a small smile creeping subtly across his face. He could see that she had freshened up, changed into the clothes he had left for her, and already looked fuller, noticing simultaneously that the kitchen counter was cleared of its contents.

"Hey, guys" Canaan greeted over the upright of the seat, still slightly embarrassed for not having known them very long. Alphard didn't respond. She simply undid the straps on her onyx black boots, eased her feet away from their tight grip, and left them near the door. Siam did the same, only he was more polite than she had been;

"Hey, Canaan. I see that you ate already. That's good. Did you like it?"

"Hmmm… the pastries were pretty good but could have been better. The soup was awesome. And the bread was tasty, too. I didn't eat the flesh sandwich."

"The burger?" he corrected after removing his other foot of the boot.

"The what?"

He chuckled genuinely. "It's called a burger."

"A buau… guh?"

"Bur-ger."

"Bur-ger. A burger."

"I guess you're not too familiar with those kind of foods. I'll keep that in mind for next time."

"Seems like you're going to be living here for a while" Alphard stated, to Canaan's surprise. She hadn't thought the tall, black-haired girl would say anything to her, at least for a while longer, or never. Even a little bit was good enough for Canaan. "The room you slept in is yours. The one next to it is mine, just for clarity's sake."

"O.K."

Alphard walked towards the restroom, entered, and closed the door behind her. Droplets from her wet clothes splashed onto the dark planks, blackening them further, and leaving an apparently moist trail where she tread. Siam watched her as she walked away, as did Canaan. He spoke to her after taking a seat on the stool in front of the counter;

"You'll get used to her. She puts up an intimidating front, but she's not hard to figure out."

She nodded in approval. "Where'd you guys go?"

"I've been here once before and that was only temporarily. We went scouting to get our bearings. Being fully aware of where we are is essential for us. That's why she was wet when we arrived: I sent her across the river to see what was beyond a patch of trees blocking our view."

"Did you find anything?"

"Canaan, when we go scouting, we're not looking for anything in particular. It's strictly for rote memory in case we get caught in a precarious situation. I'm sure you're aware of that possibility after traveling with us."

"I suppose" Canaan surmised. Her demeanor was lighter. She felt at ease with Siam. He had noticed that she was quickly adjusting to her new lifestyle. She seemed more predisposed to being legitimately happy than Alphard, who Siam constantly had to be wary of with her cold design, serious comport, and quick sarcasm. Canaan, however, seemed like she could be a bundle of joy when she was acclimated to her surroundings. He almost felt pity for her, that she would willingly give up her innocent life to be trained as a mercenary, a rogue whose priorities were always objective based. Emotion lacking killing machines.

"Alpha said that we're going to be here for a while, right?"

"Alpha?"

"Yeah! Alphard is her name, right?"

He looked at Canaan blankly for a moment before he responded. "Yeah. Alphard."

"Alright, then. I'll call her Alpha!"

"Why Alpha? Is it because it's convenient shorthand?"

"Yes, and because she's like the alpha in a pack of wolves. Strong, cold, and a crazy good hunter!" she exclaimed excitedly. Canaan really did like her. Though she hadn't felt much of anything from her but hostility, she had seen the way she "performed" at the inn and during their evasion in the previous town. She wanted to learn how to be that good.

"Did you train her, Siam?" she asked out of curiosity, hoping that he would say yes.

"Yeah" he replied. "Unfortunately."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she uses her skill in such a way that's 'unsettling,' for lack of a better word. You've seen some of it."

"Yeah, but killing people is unsettling no matter how it's done" she stated sternly. Siam could tell that it came from a moral place. He knew he had no right to encroach on that aspect of her persona; she'd have to change that herself.

"You're right about that" he responded while removing his jacket and placing it on the adjacent stool. "Still, her efficiency is intrinsic. I only taught her technique, recognizing the best option in a situation, keeping calm when hard-pressed, how to use a gun properly, and things like that, which I'll show you as well. But I didn't teach her methodology when it comes to taking another person's life. She does so effectively, sometimes brutally, but always mercilessly." He rubbed his hand over his forehead, down his cheek, and scrunched one side of his chin with his thumb, the other with his middle and index finger before returning his arm atop the counter. He seemed saddened but at the same time resolute with how he had taught his student. "I suppose there isn't much I can do about that now. You'll understand what I mean when you hang around her a little more."

"I don't doubt it."

"But I will teach you one thing today: you need to know that hatred has no place on the battlefield. It doesn't do anything but lead to more hatred, continuing endlessly. If you don't remember anything else I teach you, remember that much. It'll save you a lot of trouble."

Canaan nodded quietly.

"You'll be alright. I won't have to worry much about you."

Canaan would have received the compliment thankfully but wanted to know his reasoning behind the endearment:

"Why's that?" she asked, her chin resting against the top of the sofa while she looked into his eyes.

"I can tell. Fear is already a nonfactor for you. As long as you're rid of that, everything else will fall into place."

"That's nice to know."

"For now, you'll rest easy. We have two months between our being here and making a trip to China for a mission one of my clients wants me to complete. That should be plenty time to teach you."

"O.K."

Alphard emerged from the bathroom with her hair soaking. She wore a black tank-top and some sweat pants that somewhat inflated her slim figure. Her hair glistened with moisture, some of which fell on her shoulders and onto the floor, forever absorbed by planked divides of obscurity. She rubbed her hair out with the towel until it was dry enough, threw the towel back into the bathroom, closed its door, and began fixing her hair. She wrapped it up in her conventional swooping motion, the single pin constraining most of the dark locks behind her head in an updo that left some rebellious strands ejecting from the bun. She approached the two, looking at Siam first, and then eyeing the girl, questionably. She entered the kitchen, opened the fridge, removed a bottle of juice, and poured herself a glass. Even after taking a shower, she felt it necessary to stay replenished after having struggled through the desert and not knowing if Siam would take them back. She addressed Siam after taking a long swig from the tall glass she filled;

"You want me to teach her?" she asked while placing the glass onto the counter.

"Teach her what?"

"The first thing you taught me."

Siam looked in the air, recollecting the many field experiences, gun lessons, and eliminated soldiers they had gone through. He then responded:

"Oh. I don't know if she can handle it."

"She's not dead, is she?"

Canaan looked at the two perplexed, wondering as to what she was about to make her do. Her humanity felt jeopardized whenever Alpha spoke of her.

"No. But that's not necessarily something you'd want to put a girl through who wasn't too far from death."

Canaan instantly thought back to the rubble she had been trapped under. She cringed at the mention of her near burial, the grave emotions flooding back into her being. It disturbed her and the memories wouldn't leave her alone. They had become a part of her.

"You should give her some time" he continued.

"Why not now? You made me do it after we got away from those guys."

"That's because I wanted to show you how not be vulnerable when caught in dire straits. You didn't stop following me since that day."

"It's only fair."

Siam looked at Canaan momentarily before staring at the ceiling in contemplation.

"Fine."

Alphard smiled ominously. She then exited the kitchen, went toward the entrance opposite the living area, and sat down while putting on her boots. Canaan looked at Siam, completely disconcerted. She would have liked an explanation but all she got was a shrug.

She got up after strapping on her boots, the cuff of her sweats molding against the ridges and laces lining the front. She turned around and gestured toward Canaan quietly, waving her hand at the door. "Your boots are here" was all she said before she opened the door and descended the outside staircase leading to the base where the foundation of the cabin was laid. Canaan rose quietly, went toward the door, and proceeded to put on her boots before she followed. Siam dutifully did the same, wondering as to whether or not Canaan would end up back on the bed where he had placed her.

* * *

Outside was far more beautiful than what Canaan had saw inside. The air was fresh. The sky was brimming, though the sun had begun setting. When she went toward the gorge she had seen from the second floor, there was actually a flowing river. It was green, though probably still fresh, what with it coming from amidst the mountainous peaks in the distance. Alpha had been waiting for her on a stretch of fertile dirt a few paces away from the cabin. Canaan didn't know what was about to happen. She stood in front of Alpha and looked into her eyes, still perturbed as to what was going on. Siam followed, a cigarette in his mouth, and stood against one of the trees. Canaan watched him, looking for some kind of visual aid, as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled, filling his vicinity with nicotine-heavy haze which drifted in the wind. He looked at Alphard and ordered:

"Remember: I want bruises. No blood."

"Yeah, yeah" Alphard complained while turning her head away from him and leaving her gaze dead-set on the girl. She assumed a stance, her back foot pivoted sideways behind her, her two hands fisted in front of one another before her face, just parallel to her eyes.

Canaan understood.

* * *

Alphard approached Canaan in a hurried sprint she had not seen coming. She went in for what she considered a simple attack: a straight-forward right. Canaan wasn't adept to fighting but had the right of mind to dodge the attack. She ducked, quickly bending her knees and kicking up dirt with a sidestep. Out of her being threatened and almost instinctually, she formed a fist and threw it at Alphard's gut. She didn't see the attack coming, having underestimated the girl's abilities, and felt as her stomach churned viciously from the girl's knuckles being pressed into her abdomen. Alphard forcefully stepped back, her momentum going in the opposite direction while her anger skyrocketed. She nearly peeled over after taking a misstep backward and coughed, saliva dripping from her mouth onto the ground.

Siam watched under the shade of the trees, impressed. It was a very timely counter.

Canaan flexed her hand and slapped her knuckles against the inside of her other hand. Shaking it out didn't seem to make the pain go away, either.

Alphard stood upright again, agony flaring, and wiped the trailing saliva from her mouth. She was pissed, but tried her best not to let it show. Instead, a smile snuck over her face. Canaan remained neutral, waiting for her opponent to reengage.

Alphard rushed again, this time swinging her left foot at the girl's legs. Alphard in no way saw what the girl was about to do next: she leaned into the kick, her shoulder falling sideways, until her whole upper body was pivoting at an angle. Alphard felt the pressure of the girl's hand on her swinging leg. Her entire body was airborne, Alphard's foot acting as a springboard, for the girl to flip sideways. Her legs were above her head as she wheeled over Alphard's foot and landed on her two feet, leaving her completely vulnerable with her foot still carrying.

Canaan emulated her previous attack and swung her right foot at the side of her body. Alphard saw the attack and purposefully slipped off the foot she was still standing on. Her back fell first, allowing her lower body to rise and for her to avoid the attack. The instep of Canaan's boot met viciously with the side of her rising leg, which had initiated the previous attack, for little effect. She only ripped the side of her sweats to reveal its stitching, a streak peeling up her thigh.

Alphard placed her hands behind her head to brace her fall, rolled sideways, and rose immediately to follow with a punch to the side of the girl's face. She wasn't trying to hurt her too bad, as per Siam's instructions, but did want to make the little runt pay. The girl swung her head sideways, evading the lunge, and followed with one of her own. An exchange ensued between the two, a combination of deflecting and/or dodging punches while countering until someone gave way or tried something different. Alphard was frustrated. She thought they would have been done earlier and was insulted by how long their exchange dragged on.

Siam hadn't thought the girl would be able to hold her own against Alphard. Smoke seeped from his mouth while watching the girls move. He didn't care very much for their attacks; instead, he watched their footwork, examining the foundation of their movement. Canaan always braced one foot against the ground behind her front foot, which more often than not was her right. Southpaw. It was a defensive stance, but it seemed to be working in her favor. Alphard, on the other hand, was always calculating with her steps, placing them wherever she could find an opening and expose her. She moved diligently, making sure to place her left foot forward while dodging an attack or sway in place when testing with occasional jabs, strafing with constantly shuffling feet. Alphard was always moving. Canaan always paused.

The fighting was a spectacle to watch. But he knew that Canaan, no matter how good she naturally was, wouldn't win.

Alphard saw an opening after a punch the girl threw. She ducked, took a step forward, and punched the girl in her gut. The girl yelped and strained. Alphard was ferocious. She lifted her left arm so that it was spread outward and whirled her right leg ruthlessly into the side of her body. The blast resounded, stunning Canaan so much that she couldn't even find the breath to scream; the impact to her ribcage dictated otherwise. She then used her arm as a swing, taking two steps forward, and ended up behind her where she turned and applied the bottom of her boot brutally to the center of her back. The girl flew forward and ended up disheveled in the rich dirt.

Canaan felt the soil beneath her hands. It disintegrated into more minute particles under her arms, between her fingers, and under her dirtied pants. Her body hurt excruciatingly. But she still wanted to fight.

Alphard tapped the ground with the tip of her boot in a display of dominance. She lifted her feet, swinging them in a pendulum motion, and let them frolic through the air, carelessly. Leaning against her heels and stretching her legs out, it was her way of calling the match quits. A display of nonchalant boasting and pompous indifference.

She hadn't thought that the girl would be willing to continue as she saw her struggle to rise, starting with her knees and then supporting herself with her hands. Alphard was flattered.

* * *

Difficult but nevertheless achievable, Canaan rose to her feet and turned, looking Alphard in the eyes.

Alphard saw the color.

Her eyes brimmed crimson, glowing with traces of scarlet while deepening in vivid color. She panted heavily, dirt falling off her khakis, with nothing but desire in her eyes. She had no intent of letting their brawl end in her defeat.

Alphard glowed light blue. Canaan didn't like that color.

Alphard was taken aback. Those eyes were difficult to look into. So deep. So bright. So _much._ Still, she took her stance and waited for the girl to approach, not knowing what to expect but at the same time intrigued by the mystery.

"Alright. That's enough, you two" Siam interrupted when Canaan was about to jump into a full sprint toward her opponent. "I said I didn't want any blood."

Alphard watched as the girl's eyes faded and returned to their usual silver-beige shade. The girl was dirtied, wrangled, and weary.

_Maybe I went too hard on her. I'm not apologizing._

"Come on. You guys both took showers and now you're working up a sweat. That's counter-intuitive."

"I still want to fight!" Canaan shouted, eyeing Alphard all the while.

"Fight who? Don't beat yourself up. I already told you that you should be taking it easy. I don't need you getting hurt any more than you already are."

"No! I want to fight! I want to fight Alpha!"

Alphard looked at the girl with her brows scrunched upward.

_Alpha…?_

"Forget it. You already learned the first lesson I taught Alphard a long time ago."

Canaan growled viciously, her adrenaline still pumping. She didn't want to be aggressive toward her teacher. She found her composure to some degree, wiping her mouth clean of saliva and dirt, and turned her body so that she could still see Alphard across from her and look at Siam as well.

"What did I learn?" she demanded, trying her best to conceal her anger.

"How to get your ass kicked so that it won't happen again. Now come on, both of you."

He dropped the cigarette he had exhausted to the floor, put it out with the bottom of his boot, and went back toward the staircase leading to the cabin. Alphard followed while Canaan trailed. She could feel her left oblique throbbing with pain, her back beating eerily down her spinal cord, and her gut turning inside-out. The pain didn't bother her as much as the feeling did. The feeling of being left in the dirt. She couldn't stand it.

Who else but Alpha to remind her of the squalor she so hated.

Following her footsteps, she both detested and admired her. She took her loss as inspiration.

She promised herself that she would never be caught lying in the dirt again.


	6. Chapter 5 - The Rookie Sentiment

_Author's Note – _Hi guys! If you're still reading, I'd like to hi-five you, but I guess we'll just have to use our imaginations, lol. It took longer than I expected…

I hope you guys like it! Tell me what you think and enjoy reading! Banzai!

* * *

Chapter 5 – The Rookie Sentiment

"Are you finished?" Siam asked while sitting on a chair next to the balcony overlooking the leaves bouncing atop and beneath their innumerably flanked branches.

Pacing, pacing, pacing…

"Almost…!" Canaan responded frantically.

The retaining wire came out after she pried the bottom with a screwdriver. She hurried to put it all back together. She replaced the strap like he told her to, put the sliding assembly back together, and locked it atop the trigger frame, loading the chamber by pulling back the slide, ending with the conventional firearm click.

"Done!" she exclaimed while throwing her hands in the air.

Alphard pushed the button her finger had been sitting on. She was laying down on the couch behind Canaan, her head cushioned by a pillow while her legs hung lazily off the large armrest. She had her left arm hanging off the side while her other hand held the electronic timer.

"Forty seconds" Alphard noted while looking at Siam. They had a strong connection with each other that Canaan perceived as simultaneously unusual and pragmatic: they didn't have to say anything to talk to one another. Just a glance was enough for them to get their thoughts across. Canaan had seen them steal looks at each other while living at the cabin as if they were an infatuated couple but knew their silent communication came from experience. She looked at him with an unimpressed visage, one brow lowered while the other was raised, as if to say "a turtle could go faster" while Siam returned her look, his brow slightly raised along with a visibly forgiving regard, as if to say "give her time." They might have been saying something else. It was all in Canaan's mind. But they definitely were commenting on her performance.

Alphard's hair drifted off the side of the couch after the pin holding her black locks in place came undone against the pillow. She cleared the timer back to zero while readjusting her legs so that the back of her left knee was above her right knee.

"Nanoseconds?" Canaan eagerly demanded while chewing her bottom lip nervously.

The futility was amusing. A smile spread across Alphard's face before she responded:

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! It does matter! Every second, even a fraction of a second, counts!"

"I agree. But you were too slow" Siam scolded. One of his legs was fully extended against the planked floor while the other was bent inwards. He was cleaning the surface of his firearm with a handkerchief. When he wiped one side, the previously white fabric stained, traces of brown dust splotching one side of the cloth. The dust collected in smaller and smaller amounts as he wiped it clean. When he had finished, he put the gun in the air in front of him and examined it, rotating from either side by the grip and readjusting his grasp to check underneath. He was a creature of habit. Albeit meticulous but necessary, his experience told him that the process was redundant, that the new shine of the surface gleamed only to be soiled again in a process of eerie entropy his mercenary work would surely accommodate.

He held the gun in his right hand once he had finished and left the rag hanging on top of his seat before he addressed Canaan;

"It's better than yesterday or the day before, but you should be getting the hang of it now. This is much simpler than fieldwork. It's not so much that I'm trying to bother you with taking apart a gun, but that I want you to have a good sense of timing, of knowing when things are happening and _about _to happen, and how to properly use what little time you may have in pressing situations. This is only a first step. You should be able to do a field strip and reassembly in half the time."

Canaan was annoyed. She pouted at Siam for making her go through what she thought was a pointless routine, for her mediocre performance, and for disappointing him.

"Disassemble it again" he ordered.

Canaan pressed the takedown lever on either side of the gun located just below the barrel, watched as the slide inched forward, and removed the assembly with a firm press and gentle glide. She took apart all of its components and put them on the counter in order as she undid the mechanism. She then pried beneath the grip with the acute tip of a screwdriver until it popped, allowing her to pull the wire which held the back strap intact where she grasped the handle. She set the frame against the table and perused the components with her gaze. No longer did the weapon look so intimidating, as when staring down its barrel. It seemed ridiculous. Pieces of junk without their compliments. She found it strange that when all those pieces were in optimal condition, assembled, aimed, and excited by the pull of a trigger, a mechanically-driven process, dropped by a hammer and glorious assembly, could envoy a projectile at eye-blinking velocities and cater to its user's whims. Together, they were a Beretta PX4. Separated, they were just pins, screws, and pieces.

"Guide rod?" Siam asked.

Canaan searched through the disassembled components on the table until she found what he asked for. She held it up so he could see. He nodded.

"Central block?"

That square thingy. The other parts of the slide assembly went in there before being locked in place. She held it up. Nod.

"Recoil spring?"

That one was easy. She put it up, holding the refurnished coil with the index and thumb of her left hand. Nod.

"Barrel?"

That was one of the biggest pieces on the counter. A cylindrical piece with a widened end. She held it up. Nod.

"Slide?"

Another one of the big pieces: the shaft where the rear sight was located. It had a gradient decal she rubbed her finger against before she held it up. The model and manufacturer was located along the side. She liked that part of the gun. It made the best sound when she pulled it back. Nod.

"Good. Now put it back together."

She did it slowly this time, making sure to remember where each part went. Her slow motions became a part of the memorization process. Each sensation, from her hands floating over one another to the feeling of the chrome on the surface of the barrel, the resistance of the spring, and the sounds, were all as important as the previous and the next. After sliding the assembly back onto the separated pistol, she held the Beretta by the handle and examined its constitution. Now that she had seen the components of its construction, she felt that it was no more than a tool which served a particular purpose: lethality. Nothing more. Nothing less. She could feel every node with which the grip was designed as she rubbed the inside of her fingers against the high-grade polymer lining the front and back of the grip. Emotionless. Functional.

She understood why. It was only natural, if not wholly purposeful by machination, that they wouldn't have a color.

"The Beretta you're using is different from Alphard's Five-Seven. When it comes to the safety, yours has a decocker instead of a traditional safety switch."

"I hate those things" Alphard commented while looking at the ceiling. "It's insulting to think that a manufacturer would have to worry about accidental discharge so much that they'd address it with that gimmick. I know how to drop a hammer."

"I suppose that's a question of preference," Siam surmised, "and not everybody is as trained a killer as you are."

"I guess" Alphard dismissed with a light shrug of her shoulder.

"As I was saying, the decocker on your Beretta works in conjunction with the hammer since it's spring-loaded." He took his gun, positioned it so that the emptying slot was towards him, and pulled back the slide with his right hand. The loaded bullet ejected, which he caught with his right hand before it could fall to the ground. He held it so that the blunt side faced Canaan and the tip was just in front of his right eye.

"The back of this bullet, or a primer, needs to be hit by a striker in order for the gunpowder to ignite and for the bullet to discharge. With a decocker, the striker is intentionally prevented from being engaged by the hammer even if it's dropped."

Canaan turned the lever near where the rear sight was and heard the weapon click while the hammer tripped, hitting the back of the gun.

"When that happens, the bullet won't fire." He loaded his gun with an empty cartridge and pulled back on the slide. The hammer was set for demonstration.

"When the hammer is here, the weapon is under spring tension. Pulling the trigger will trip the hammer, engage the striker, and subsequently the chamber where the bullet is then fired." He pulled the trigger and showed her the motion. The hammer booted and hit the rear of the gun. "When your weapon is loaded, you can go from single-action by dropping the hammer or pulling back the slide, or you can switch to double-action by decocking, which forces a heavier trigger pull for the first shot, but single-action pull for the rest. If you don't like it, I could always switch it out fo-"

"No," Canaan quietly interrupted, "I like this one."

Siam lowered his firearm and smiled. He put his gun away at his waist and sat forward, readjusting his legs to give his upper body leverage. He continued, wanting to make sure that she knew everything about her weapon of choice;

"What's your current caliber?"

"40."

"Action?"

"Rotating barrel semi-automatic."

"What's your feed?"

"Ten round magazines. Or fourteen. Or seve-"

"You won't need more than that. If you can't kill what you're aiming for in that many shots, you're probably dead, anyway."

"Geez…" Canaan muttered wearily.

"Make sure you always know how many bullets you have left in a magazine. It's better to reload often than to get trigger-happy; efficiency is the better part of combat. The fewer bullets, the better."

Canaan aimed her gun at the empty wall below a set of cabinets to get used to the feeling of holding her firearm. Siam watched her with a nostalgic regard, remembering how he had taught Alphard the same things he was teaching Canaan only some time ago.

Siam looked at his new student curiously. She had a high ceiling: her potential was remarkable. If he could train her the same way he did Alphard, she would be a great soldier. If he was right about her, then she'd run through the stages of development before they went to China, if not sooner.

"How are you feeling?"

He was alluding to the injuries Canaan had sustained after her skirmish with Alphard. Underneath her light fitting white T-shirt were a heavy set of bandages that went around her abdomen and upper body to alleviate the bruising. He noticed that she would lean on the left side of her body awkwardly so as to somewhat allay the pain which irked her. If she wasn't OK, he would have to forget about what he wanted her to do for at least another day.

"Oh, this?" she noted, "I'm fine! It still hurts a little but I can just walk it off!"

"Don't lie," Alphard stated sarcastically, "I doubt that you're alright after the hits you took."

Canaan frowned uneasily, tugging her shoulders down, as if a little sister who was being teased by an older sibling. "Well, it's _your_ fault that I'm still hurting!"

"I take that as a compliment."

"If you're not fully healed," Siam suggested, "we can give you some more time before we can acclim-"

"No! I'm fine! I'm telling the truth!" She put her Beretta on the counter while dismissing his concern for her semi-healed status so he wouldn't leave her out.

"Alright."

Siam stood up. "Take your Beretta with you. We're going out for a few hours. Alphard, you can come if you want."

Alphard knew where he was going to take her. "I don't have anything else to do. So I guess I'll tag along." She stood, stretched, and walked off the stiffness by taking a few awkward steps forward before the sensation returned to her arms and legs. She grabbed her Five-Seven on the table in the center of the living room and put it at her waist where she felt it belonged.

Canaan jumped off her seat and ran down the passageway to wash her hands clean of the grime she had gotten while taking apart her gun. Her firearm at her waist, she skipped along the creaky planks and disappeared into the bathroom after nearly tripping over a misstep. Her excitement was apparent.

"I was never that excited for training" Alphard said while looking down the passageway.

"It's new for her."

"Once she sees how much it sucks, she'll wish she had stayed in the desert."

"I doubt it."

"Why's that?"

"Stray dogs are always looking for a new home."

* * *

Siam looked down at his compass. The top end was in between the large E and the equally large N, divided by smaller increments and degrees going along the interior circumference. The aesthetic was pleasing. Gradient trimming, carbon-black exterior with white accents, and a frame that could be shot at with an onslaught of bullets and still remain intact. The girl had given him quite the valuable device. He shut the locket and put it away in his right pocket while taking another step through the fertile sediment.

They walked along the river, following it until Siam led them to their destination. The river flowed gently, collections of dirt settling on the banks stretching its length. Its depths were darkened green, much more different than the swirling, blue currents which swept past on its surface. The sound it made was soothing. Gently dashing water gurgling downstream murmured in their ears, splashing along the eroding river wall with uninspired impacts.

He was used to hearing only one set of footsteps besides his own in his vicinity; it took him a while before he could get used to the additional set of footsteps which trailed behind him.

The trees fluttered next to them while they walked along the river. Their leaves were still moist from the dew collecting from the frigid desert night. They provided convenient but sporadic instances of shade to shield them from the morning sun. The shadows of the branches cast down upon the path they walked, creating a pattern of random silhouettes which moved and morphed in rhythm with the swaying branches above. The sky in front of them was deeply blue, clear of any clouds which would have been lit by the rising sun. Instead, they hid on the other side of the sky, drifting in heavy masses and streaming hazes. As they progressed through the panorama, the mountains in the distance seemed to give way, veering off in the opposite direction. The stream next to them followed as the river wall below slowly began to careen in the direction of the mountains. Eventually, all they could see of the river was its curvature as it returned to where it came from.

The dirt beneath their feet began to dry up, similar to the harsh desert ground. Siam came upon a downward slope with no stable path. Alphard stopped. Canaan would have continued walking had it not been for Siam's arm which braced her from falling. She looked down and gauged the descent. It must have been about forty meters, conservatively estimating. She looked up at Siam to see whether or not he would make them go down that dusty and dangerously angled decline. Her answer was confirmed when Siam took the first step down, slid cautiously, and continued with his back angled nearly parallel to the ground beneath him. Alphard followed. She didn't even look the slightest bit intimidated by the descent. More like annoyed.

Canaan took her first step down, grabbing the ledge behind her for support, before she continued down the slope. Her center of gravity was lowered to support the resistance from each slippery step, riding the unforgiving slope cautiously, cautiously, cautiously.

Siam and Alphard had to wait for her. She landed on the sediment with one foot and slowly followed with the other. He continued walking forward until they reached another cutoff which was a few meters away. When he reached the edge, he looked to his left before turning to his right and spotting what he had been searching for.

"So that's it."

Alphard stopped at the edge and crossed her arms when she saw a small building, this one created with a metal and brick exterior. It stood in an empty stretch of almost uniform dirt which would have seemed artificial had it not been for the patches of grass which grew on the rough texture and along the dirty walls. Canaan did notice that there were man-made holes placed in long stretching columns and rows, oddities which had to have been made on purpose. There were large, brown hills which rolled in the distance and surely would lead them to another desert expanse if they traveled far enough. The area was empty; the sound of silence beckoned them, unusual as much as it was unsettling.

Siam jumped down and landed with a small thud. He was followed by Alphard and then Canaan, who sat on her butt after landing awkwardly on her feet. She rose and followed, walking off the tingle in her feet before she was too far behind.

The reinforced door of the building was locked shut. Siam pulled out a pair of keys on a chain, one of which was for the cabin, and the other, they presumed, for this odd building. He unlocked the door, pulled on the knob, and entered, leaving the door open for Alphard and Canaan behind him. Alphard grew curious. She had a pressing urge to know how Siam was aware of such an isolated place on the outskirts of a beautiful river amongst high reaching mountains;

"You can't tell me that you just so happened to stumble upon this place because I wouldn't believe you."

"This area used to be owned by a local militia before my previous client bought it out for a hefty sum. Privatizing large pieces of land isn't advised around these parts. The purchase should be illegal as per proprietary guidelines but bribery has a way of getting around certain bothersome policies. There aren't many people who know about this place since it's a restricted area in the middle of nowhere. He told me about this facility after having completed a task he asked me to do a long time ago and gave me access here and to the cabin as thanks."

He walked into the lobby area with grey tiles on the floor separated by thin black lines. To the left, there was a large, rectangular, bulletproof glass window which looked out into the wide open space and several ranges to the right separated into booths. On the opposite wall was a white door which seemed to mismatch the grey interior. Siam continued while heading towards the door:

"I haven't seen the guy since. I suppose it must be difficult to always be on the run from authorities."

"That sounds like it comes from a personal place" Alphard hinted sarcastically.

"Maybe."

"So she's going to be training here?"

"For the time being."

Alphard turned and looked at Canaan who was following behind her. She was turning her head from side to side, examining the design of the interior.

"She's got it better than I did. You had me training in firefights and shit storms most of the time."

Alphard stuck her hand out, raising it at the palm, and bumped her forehead before she had time to react.

"Ow!" Canaan complained while rubbing her unhurt forehead.

She did it again. Canaan didn't know how to react. She wanted to make her stop but felt that she'd be disrespectful to retaliate. Any quick movements might make her react instinctively, which would only end in her having more bandages. She stood with her arms crossed, a pouty mouth, and waited for Alpha's teasing to be over. To her surprise, however, she eventually raised her hand and petted her head the same way Siam had done at the inn. It was odd. Canaan could only react by putting her head down sheepishly and blushing.

Siam watched quietly. It was the first time he'd seen her have an interaction with the girl that wasn't hostile. He smiled before turning back toward the closet and opening it. Alphard ended the caress with another bump to her forehead.

"Oww!" Canaan exclaimed while shielding her forehead with the back of her hands. Her defense was to no avail. Alphard turned and sat on an empty table, pulled her gun from her waist, and slid the hammer up and down as her way of passing time.

"That kind of training suited you" Siam reminisced while rummaging through the closet and its contents. "Trial by fire is tedious but you learned quicker that way. And you're still alive to complain to me about it."

"Yeah. I'm still not dead. Yet."

"You'll be alright."

"I'm not immortal, you know. I can remember more than a few bullets that almost killed me."

"Trust me. If there's one thing that won't kill you, it's a bullet."

Alphard slid the hammer down while fidgeting with her gun. Her back was arched forward with the Five-Seven sitting in her lap. She looked at the girl who was staring out the window at a trio of birds flying through the air.

She thought back to the many firefights she had been caught in and of the many bullets she had avoided running through crossfire. Screams she had heard. Lives she had taken.

She felt like a phantom whenever she was fighting, as if she could appear suddenly, get her feelings across, and depart as quickly as she came. The abstract sentiment was surreal and enchanting. She wanted only to return to that stage and perform her waltz with combat until their time was up or until the embrace would be too much to escape.

Other people in her life hadn't been so lucky. Still, she performed. And never had she felt haunted.

Siam emerged from the storeroom with eight wooden stands which all had thick pieces of paper Canaan couldn't quite depict while they were being carried under his arms.

"Alphard" he called.

"Yeah?"

"Go in there and grab the apparatus on the floor. I want to see if it still works."

Alphard put her gun away, hopped off the table, and entered the closet. When she came out, she had a controller-like device about the length of her forearm with several buttons on its surface. She exited the building and followed Siam. Canaan was mesmerized by the birds flying in the air. They flew in circles before flapping away into the distance, fading until she could no longer see them.

* * *

"Come on!" Siam yelled. "Don't lose stride! Move!"

It was hard for her to listen. There was so much stress coming in from all around and so much to process. She rolled, rose to her feet quickly, flipped backwards, and landed on her feet to shoot the target behind her. Two shots. Both missed, one hitting the dirt, the other grazing the top.

_Damnit!_

She had to keep moving. Her feet shuffled automatically in the direction of the next target, but she had a feeling that her movements were sporadic. She saw one on her left, turned, and shot at it, pulling the trigger twice while diving through the air. One hit the red dot, the other shredded a hole underneath the heart.

She landed on her free hand, sprung off the ground, and swung her lower body so that her legs were swinging laterally through the air, allowing her to contort her body in the direction of the next target. She shot at it twice, one hitting the head while the other completely missed. She landed with one foot, her other foot still in the air, and twirled so that she could shoot at the last one behind her. She emptied the magazine, inserted another, pulled on the slide, and spun to a stop, shooting at the last target's chest and neck.

"Launch A3!"

Alphard pressed a button on the device Siam had told her to get. Suddenly, Canaan heard the whistle and subsequent launch of a canister from one of the holes in her proximity. She flipped backwards, aimed at the metal device while her upper body was rotating, and shot a bullet at what she thought was the canister. The bullet hit the bottom of the can and ignited its contents. The can exploded in a loud crash and created a small flash of white light, which dispersed into red sparks before dissipating.

"Isn't that pretty" Alphard commented while laying down in the dirt with her right hand against the side of her face.

Canaan landed too early before the bottom of her boot could plant firmly against the ground. Instead, the toes of her boots took the brunt of the impact and she fell forward, landing brutally against the dirt. Her Beretta was sent a few paces away, tumbling against the dirt, until it finally rolled to a stop. A small dust cloud kicked up where she landed before vanishing in the air.

The dirt was different. It was granulated, but not as rough. It was grey, dull, yet sensitive, like the sand in an hourglass. However gentle it was, the feeling was still the same.

She hated it.

Canaan panted heavily. She had strained her abdomen and chest too much. The pain was agonizing. She pushed off the ground, grasping the dirt in her hand, raised her right leg to knee level, and rose to her feet, slowly returning to bipedalism. She stood and stared at the targets around her. She was angry with herself. In a fit of anger, she threw the dust in her hand back onto the ground. Most of the particles disintegrated and drifted in the wind before they returned to the ground. She didn't want to look at Siam because she already knew that her performance was mediocre.

"That's enough for today" he shouted from his perch above. "I might have been overdoing it, anyway."

"At least she hit the can this time" Alphard stated, noting the highlight of her flashy but ineffective performance.

"It was sloppy. But she'll get better. She just needs practice."

"Is practice enough?"

"She's hard on herself. If she wants to improve, then she will."

"Maybe she's just feeling crappy about how bad she did."

"The problem with people like her is that their performance is inextricably linked with a desire _not _to fail. I can take care of that. I've been around my fair share of soldiers who act the same way."

"What happened to them?"

…

Siam kicked at the dirt beneath his boots with his head down in somber contemplation.

"Forget I asked."

"She needs to first know that simulation is different from combat. It can only give her a sense of what might happen. When she actually has to pull the trigger and make another human being scarce, the decision should be objective: either she shoots or she doesn't. There shouldn't be any hard feelings."

"You make it sound like we don't think about it."

"How many soldiers have you killed?"

Alphard shrugged.

"Do you sleep at night?"

"Like a baby. As long as there's a bed."

"Do you ever hesitate?"

"Never."

"Then you're better off than her. She'll learn. Just like you did."

Alphard looked down at the girl sitting in the dirt below. Her back was turned toward them, arched forward while she cradled her knees. Alphard remembered when she was in the same position as her. The only difference between her and the girl, excluding performance, was that she always felt remorseless. Pulling the trigger was a means to her improvement and survival, and, as such, a necessity. She could tell that the girl was crying after having three consecutive, subpar runs. Her shoulders joggled up and down and she wiped her forearm across her face more than once. She really was down on herself.

Alphard stood up and stretched again, spreading her arms wide in the air and yawning simultaneously. She grabbed the apparatus, jumped down to the range, and returned it to the closet where she found it. She climbed atop the building, got on top of the roof, and jumped back to the terrain where Siam was still standing.

While she approached, she heard his phone ring. He pulled out his ancient flip-phone, which he had modified so that it couldn't be traced, and answered the call.

"Yeah?" he responded. Alphard found the greeting less than polite and somewhat amusing at the same time. Such a brute man.

A few seconds passed before he spoke...

"When?"

Some seconds later…

"That's too hasty. If you want it done, it would have to be at least a few hours from now."

A few more seconds…

"Alright. We'll meet as usual and pick up our recompense at the same place."

And finally…

"Fine. We'll take care of it." He hung up and returned the phone to his pocket before Alphard inquired about the conversation;

"Another target?" she asked out of habit.

"Yeah" he grunted.

"We better not have to go through the desert."

"Unfortunately."

Alphard kicked at the dirt in frustration. She had no desire whatsoever of going through the furnace again.

"The town we need to go to is not as far as the previous one. It'll be about three hours if we walk."

"Can we at least go back to the cabin before we leave? I need to take a cold shower."

"That's fine."

Canaan had risen while they were conversing, scaled the building, and jumped onto the high-leveled sediment, running over to them enthusiastically, seemingly revitalized. When she was a few steps from the two, she yelled out:

"I'm coming, too!"

Alphard sucked on her teeth, annoyed. Her arms were crossed, one of her legs was bent inward, and she had a pretentious disposition about her. The girl didn't seem to understand that the ease of a mission had much to do with expertise. She didn't want to be dragged down by extra weight.

"No. You would only slow us down" Siam dismissed. "You're tired, anyhow. We'll leave you at the cabin so you can rest easy." Alphard was glad that he felt the same way she did.

"You can't just leave me at the cabin! How am I supposed to get better when you won't give me a chance?"

"You've already seen some of what we do. You're still a rookie. You'll only be putting yourself at unnecessary risk."

"I won't get in the way! I'm sure of it!"

"Stop begging. You sound like a dog" Alphard remarked viciously.

Canaan's brows lowered and she peered at Alphard with a look of disdain. Her teeth grinded and her emotions flared. Alphard raised her brows at the response and held her hands out just above her shoulders, provoking and mocking her simultaneously. She had her head at an angle and turned her hands in and out, physically enticing her. Canaan would have lunged at her had it not been for Siam who prevented a catfight from ensuing;

"You'll get your chance. We'll be back after dusk if it goes smoothly."

Siam began walking back toward the dirt incline, spotting an upslope in the wall which wouldn't be as hard to climb as their descent. Alphard followed in his steed. Canaan stood and looked at their feet as they walked away, feeling utterly rejected. She blamed her being turned down on her performance with the course Siam had laid out for her. Maybe if she'd done better, he would have taken her along with them. But…

"Why won't you let me prove myself…?"

Siam stopped.

"…I can pull a trigger just like Alpha…"

Alphard stopped. She didn't know why, but she responded readily to that nickname. She turned and looked at Siam who held his face straight forward with an emotionless regard.

Canaan felt her eyes changing. They brimmed and burned.

"…and I know I can kill. I… I…"

When she looked up, she saw a potent red haze glowing around Siam. Alphard was glowing the same light blue she had seen during their fight. She knew then what the light blue meant since it was one that seemed to resonate out of a particular circumstance, a similar one she found herself in. It was one that Alphard had a tendency to emit when it came to her and her proficiency as a soldier:

Underestimation.

The red color was still unknown to her, but she felt it was one that stemmed from concern. Even with the swirling background and periphery somewhat obstructing her, the color was quite luminous. She didn't know what it was exactly, but she had an affinity for red.

It made her feel wanted.

The colors slowly began to dissipate as her vision returned to normal. She blinked and wiped her eyes with her forearm as a way to prevent the tears she felt were about to surge.

_I know I can do better…_

"Fine."

Canaan wasn't sure if the word came from him while sulking.

"If you really want it, I won't stop you."

He continued walking. He made no eye contact with Alphard, knowing that she would protest his decision. She wanted to make Siam reconsider but knew she didn't have a chance of convincing him otherwise. He was always headstrong with his choices; she wouldn't be able to make him budge. She turned her head and looked at the girl, who looked stunned, and then she looked in the distance. The previously brown-shadowed hills were lit by the rays of the sun directly overhead, revealing a more inviting shade of chamoisee which glowed lighter still while her eyes spanned their heights. She simply sighed, and followed behind Siam.

Canaan stopped looking at the dirt and ran toward them in her elation.

She couldn't let this chance pass her by.

* * *

Alphard emerged from the restroom with her body shivering. Maybe the shower had been too cold.

She had on her "work clothes:" black boots, dark denim, a white T-shirt with a dark green jacket, and her hair in a ponytail instead of her usual updo. Her equipment was already equipped, consisting of several straps which hid her knives and a large leg strap where she kept spare magazines. The girl was also dressed, sitting on the chair in front of the TV in her khakis and red shirt, her beige boots dirtied from rolling too much in the dirt.

Alphard wondered as to their location before they headed out on their mission. It was a scenic area in an isolated part of the desert. Their location suggested to her something that had been bothering her since they arrived there;

"You said your client disappeared because he was being chased or whatever, right?"

"Yeah" Siam responded while sitting on the counter and loading his firearm. "What about it?"

Alphard didn't respond. She simply walked through the living room, exited the door, and headed down the stairs.

There were a bunch of thick brushes lining the trees behind the cabin. Some of them were sharp, filled with branches, or too deep to navigate. She shoved through them until she bumped into something hard. She grabbed whatever had stopped her and pulled it out. A smooth, coated wheel rolled out first, then headlamps, and then rubber-laced handles.

_Fuck yes!_

A composite body, carbon-black frame, and a supercharged twin cylinder engine. Suzuki.

She wheeled it out to the front of the staircase. Siam was leaning against the wooden railing while lighting a cigarette. He swung the match out and dropped it underneath his boot as usual. He was impressed by the bike she had found and so was Canaan, who was standing behind him and staring at the bike in awe.

"I guess your client forgot about this" she postulated with a smirk on her face. The keys were wrapped around the handle with a small lanyard. She was happy about not having to walk through the desert.

"I don't think so. I'm sure he never got the chance to retrieve it."

"That's too bad because now it's _mine_."

Siam stood and peered at the river upstream while Alphard threw her legs over the seat. Finding the bike was a convenience.

"Alphard. You take Canaan and go complete the mission."

_What!?_

She was accustomed with completing petty tasks on her own but she never did a mission with anyone else but Siam. She didn't mind doing it for him but she sure as hell didn't need the extra weight.

"The town you need to go to is just north of here. You'll get there in less than two hours if you don't have any problems."

"What are you gonna do then? You're just going to sit your lazy butt on the couch and doze off?"

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

She scowled underneath her breath at his passiveness.

"There'll be an informant waiting for you in the town once you arrive there. He always likes getting coffee, so you'll know where to go. Once you two get rid of the problem, go back and get your compensation. Use your discretion and take nothing less than the work provided."

"Gotcha."

"Canaan" Siam called.

"Yes?"

"Did you bring extra magazines with you?"

"Yeah, I have a few."

"Stay with Alphard and be careful. Keep your eyes open and learn as much as you can. You'll probably learn more from her compared to what you went through earlier."

"Alright…"

Canaan walked down the steps and looked at Alphard sheepishly before hopping on the bike. Alphard responded with a semi-irritated look but sighed it off before she upset herself. She tapped the back seat, gesturing for her to hop aboard. Canaan smiled and jumped on enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around Alpha's belly.

"Alphard."

"Yeah?"

"Take care of her."

"Yeah, whatever."

Alphard turned the key in the ignition and surged the engine back to life. The bike vroomed with vitality, exhausting its buildup out the mufflers. Alphard gestured to Siam with a hand wave to which he responded by gently lifting his hand and waving. She turned the handle slowly, testing the acceleration, which she found was quite powerful, before she revved the engine and took off. Siam observed as the smoke lifted from their departure and saw as their figures disappeared in the distance. The scene was so much the same…

He climbed the steps and entered the door. He didn't have to worry. He was sure that Alphard would bring them back in one piece.

* * *

Alphard slowly veered the bike to the right in order to head north while the dirt kicked up behind them. Before they returned to the golden sand, she put her scarf around the bottom half of her face to shield her from any dirt, which was the only abundance in the desert. She loved how the bike felt. The vibrating sensation while her feet sat on the pegs; the sturdy rubber on the bike which rubbed against the inside of her hands; the feeling that she could go anywhere while they sped through the desert, leaving dust in their wake as if they were sweeping through the area on glides. Her hair fluttered in the wind, which forced Canaan to hug her back with the side of her head. Alphard sensed the girl's head leaning against her, an awkward feeling, but at the same time a comforting one. She didn't want to get too close to the girl lest she relent and actually start considering her as part of their team.

Canaan saw the dunes past them so quickly, like they were melting and reforming in the instant they appeared and disappeared. The rolling mounds of sand in the background were the only things that didn't make it feel like they were flying along the ground. The sound of the bike's engine was booming, yet she was able to find some respite in the melodious rhythm of the brazen throttle and exhaust. The sun didn't beat down on them as much as she thought it would with the wind constantly circulating through their clothes and streaming along their skin. She almost didn't want the ride to end. The longer they rode through the desert, the better. At their fast moving pace, however, she knew that their trip would be over sooner than later.

Alphard noticed there was pavement to her right while going along the bumpy and inconsistent desert ground. Slowly, she drifted to the dust covered tar floor until the wheels beneath her feet had stopped bumping and finally rotated smoothly. She followed that road until she saw the perimeter of the town that was their itinerary, its uniform, golden walls welcoming their arrival into another civilian populace.

* * *

Alphard dropped the speedometer below fifty KPH a few hundred meters before entering the town. The walls of the perimeter were like the gates of a town wary of falling under siege. They were grand slabs of white-turned-golden stone and could easily stop a tank in its tracks.

Nevertheless massive, the walls were the best part of the town. Upon riding through the overarching gate, they came upon grey, paved streets which were littered with shreds of paper and trash. They drifted in excess, much more so than the other town, which remained dignified with its clean streets and mosaic allure. This town was much more dull, with decrepit buildings falling apart from the outside-in and a lack of concern for the clutter which sat on the sidewalks and flanked the alley walls. There were people walking about but more sporadically and in smaller numbers, due to the more spacious design. Alphard removed the scarf from her face and felt uneasy; their presence on the bike drew unwanted attention. It was convenient that she was with the girl instead of Siam – her reputation wasn't as dirtied with mercenary work as Siam and she. At least she drew away some of the spotlight she and Siam would draw had they been together.

She parked the bike along the sidewalk, removed the key from the ignition, and slid down the sidearm with the side of her boot. Canaan hopped off the side and examined her surroundings while Alphard searched for where she thought their informant would be. There was a building on the corner with small tables and chairs out front. She looked over at the girl, who looked her in the eyes, and gestured in the direction of the diner with a nod of her head before she began walking over. Canaan followed dutifully, a child following her chaperon who just so happened to have little problem killing with ease.

The diner was filled with emptiness. A random drifter on the stool watching the qualification match for the national tournament, underaged teenagers who had found their way to the bar, the conventional drunkard testing out new, foreign imports, and some guy sitting in a booth near the far wall. Alphard walked to the end of the diner, slid inside, and took a seat comfortably. Canaan sat beside her.

The guy looked at the two of them questionably. He was about to get up and leave before Alphard addressed him;

"Tell us what we need to know."

The guy looked at the two of them confused and frustrated. But it seemed like they knew what they were talking about. He looked into the black-haired girl's eyes and saw the merciless ferocity brewing in her azure-blackened stare.

"Siam sent you?"

"Sure" she insisted apathetically. She had dealt with her fair share of guys like him with Siam. They were always the same.

The man sat back down and looked at the other girl sitting next to her. Her beige hair and red bandana mismatched but, strangely enough, fit together. Her eyes weren't as cold as her companion's. Although she tried to look otherwise, he could tell she didn't have as much experience.

"I didn't know that Siam started using children to do his dirty work. I swear he's the hell of a bastard."

"Who are we looking for?"

He looked at her and chuckled. The gall…

"This guy."

He slipped a full paged picture on the table: a stand-up looking guy around his thirties with scruffy hair, a more or less pale complexion which, for whatever reason, added to his allure, a trimmed beard that forested his chin, mouth, and cheeks, and a charismatic persona to match. If he wasn't involved in exploitation, he'd be a cooperate junky, an up and coming actor, or working in a brothel.

"He's an oil tycoon who has been misallocating distribution of thousands of barrels for months in a profiteering scheme. If he keeps it up, the authorities around here will start getting involved and then he'll have a whole army behind him. Collusion is a much better alternative than eating scraps for dinner."

"Where is he?"

"There's this uppity condominium at the northernmost part of this town. It's heavily guarded since the militia around here have already started accepting bribes. You'll recognize him as soon as you see him: he always looks better than the assholes around him. Once he's out of the picture, the ploy will deteriorate from the top-down, and, hopefully, somebody with a conscience will take over."

"We'll have it done before evening."

"Wow. Aren't you an eager beaver."

"We'll return before dark to pick up our pay."

Canaan realized that their business meeting was over and got up from the seat. Alphard looked at the suspicious informant with a last glare before she rose from her seat and followed behind Canaan. She was cautious of people like him. Anybody who was willing to employ mercenaries more often than not had no scruples. To them, killers for hire were expendable, just like the people they wanted rid of.

* * *

It was a nice view.

Canaan was looking down at the entrance of the condominium from the seventh floor of a building across the street. If she opened the door to her right, she could travel two blocks down the street by the rooftop and end up behind the condominium. Alphard was on the first floor, observing the traffic which passed by the building. It was marvelous – she could see the luminous chandelier lit with immaculate brilliance even from across the street. The porcelain exterior belittled the other buildings in the vicinity, reflecting the sun's rays with glares that bounced in every which direction. The windows stacked and stacked as the condominium rose; some of them were shadowed by the cashmere curtains while others were revealed to show the splendor of the vast rooms. The one condominium was connected to another by two walkways, one which extended from the tenth floor, the other from the fifteenth floor. It was odd to see how swanky the area was compared to the rest of the litter filled town.

Alphard watched as a limo pulled up in front of the building. A suited man exited, along with another, and another, and another.

The third one was the one she was looking for. He was the tallest of the four, the most confident, and wore the best tie. He had his phone riding his ear like he was having meaningful conversations and always did.

Canaan exited the door and looked down at the floor below to See Alpha near the entrance. She put her hand out, three fingers up, and pointed at the men exiting the limo.

_The third guy._

Alphard moved her index finger in a circular motion and pointed at the high-rise condo. She laid her hand flat and moved it once in a stacking swivel.

_Enter from the back and get to the second floor. Got it._

Canaan nodded. Alphard watched as she ran across the rooftops with their exhausting pipes and crumbling shingles. She moved quite nimbly; she could tell that the girl had good body control just by looking at her seemingly long strides despite her small physique. Alphard ran across the street and made sure not to catch the eye of any militia wandering the area. She ended up peeking from an alley cutting just diagonal from the valet parking, where the men were still conversing.

She didn't want them to enter the building before she arrived but didn't have much luck. It would be difficult to approach her objective commando, something Siam categorically advised against. Although the situation had grown tedious more quickly than she anticipated, her interest was piqued: she already had several methods going through her mind with how she could tackle her objective.

She decided to be cautious and take the technological route. She pulled out a small device Siam had shown her how to use from her jacket pocket. It was smaller than the size of her hand, had several buttons on the front, a small bulb sticking out the side, and an adhesive on the back. She peeled the wrapping with one of her knives and held it in her hand while moving across the street toward the condominium yard. She hopped the fence, placed the device on the wall, pressed two buttons, and waited for the device to activate impatiently. When the bulb lit green, she ran toward a side entrance and broke the knob with a stomp of her boot.

If the girl hadn't gotten caught, she might be able to eliminate some security. If she was already spotted, she'd serve as a good distraction. Either way was fine with her but she preferred the latter.

Canaan thought that the carpeting in the hallways were taciturn compared to the chic design of the exterior and bottom floor. She was hoping that no one had noticed the broken lock of the exterior door leading to the basement but had her doubts since she had already seen much security on her way to the second floor. She tried her best to blend in, but her light fitting clothes weren't helping when all the residents were dressed in designer. She was drawing suspicious eyes and one of the guests was about ready to notify security.

She walked toward the lobby balcony while searching for Alphard. Instead, she beheld the grand, golden beauty of the lobby. Everything shined. If there weren't jewels in the Roman stylized railings edging the steps, then there definitely were some in the lion sculptures pouncing from the walls. The slowly spinning chandelier welcomed new guests with its glistening body and falling ornaments. It was a beautiful setting and one that she realized she shouldn't be in.

Alphard was annoyed by the girl peering off at the lights in a daze when she was trying to catch her attention. She did notice, however, that the receptionist was being approached by several other staff members, all of whom had concern looks on their faces. They were complaining about a glitch and wanted to see if the receptionist's security cache was still working.

Her target and his posse had already entered the elevator and were heading up. Fortunately for her, she could tell what floor they were going to because of the lights outside the elevator door which lit up, indicating which floor the box was climbing to. She saw fifteen of the twenty aligned lights illuminate simultaneously.

Alphard looked up at Canaan and showed her both hands, one with a single index finger, the other with all five fingers sticking outward. She then pointed at the rising elevator.

Canaan ran to an interior stairwell and began her ascent. She heard the sound of a security guard telling her to stop but ignored it. Alphard did the same, ascending from the opposite wing.

* * *

Canaan reached the fifteenth floor flustered from having climbed so many steps so quickly.

She opened the door and looked down the hallway to see the four men walking down the corridor. She locked the door behind her to stall security while they were still climbing the steps. Her target was about to enter his suite, having retired for the rest of the day.

This was her chance.

With a silenced Beretta in her hands, she aimed down the corridor with her sights on the man they wanted eliminated.

She pulled the trigger.

The bullet traveled down the corridor, but didn't hit the guy they were after. Instead, she hit one of his men in the shoulder, subsequently forcing them to immediately scurry for cover. She fired again, killing the man she had hit before. He slumped over and lay under the windows overlooking the grand view of the town and desert.

The rest of the men hurried down the hallway in a hectic rush to get away from their vulnerable opening. They turned the corner and returned fire with weapons of their own, going loud. Canaan jumped behind a room service cart, flipped it over with a thrust of her foot, and leaned against the flat end. She did it all very instinctively. An eerie feeling, not having to think about the next move when adrenaline and a disturbing, yet addictive thrill dictated her moves. She removed the suppressor from the muzzle and put it in her side pocket, not seeing the need for it anymore. When there was a pause in the bullets flying past her and riddling the service tray, she stood on one knee, turned suddenly, and used the bottom end of the cart as support to shoot another one of the black-suited men, putting a bullet in the side of his neck. He fell against the wall with a hand around the hole in his neck which drained him of oxygen as he suffocated to his death. She moved up the corridor quickly, not wanting to stay idle while security was tailing her.

When she came to the corner of the corridor, she was suddenly rushed by a much bigger and overwhelming body, not having expected somebody to attack her so unexpectedly. He took her by the neck, smacked her with the back of his hand violently, and tossed her down the south wing. She landed brutally against the carpeted floor, aggravating her already bruised body.

It must have been some kind of curse. She just couldn't stay up off the floor, or worst, the dirt.

She despised it.

His footsteps approached from behind her. Right, left, right, left…

Her eyes began to change.

When he was about to use his right leg to stomp on her, she rolled suddenly, stood, and went in for a gut wrencher with a ferocious left. The man dodged it, to which he responded by trying to punch her. She whirled around the attack as if mercurial, picked up her Beretta without losing stride, and kicked the man's arm at the elbow with the rim of her boot from where he had extended his arm. It was like she was lifting a freight bridge. His arm easily gave way and cracked in the opposite direction. It was comparable to a compound fracture with the way his elbow buckled at the epicondyle, rendering the rest of his arm lethargic. His wail would have equated the languish of existence in a single breath if she had not shot him in the side of his head, just above his ear. His blood stained the white walls with a streak, adding imperfection to inglorious design while his body collapsed onto the soft carpeting.

Canaan stood emotionless while her eyes brimmed red. The sirens had begun flaring throughout the building with their flashing red sweeps and deafening sound. Her Beretta smoked at her side. The bodies of her first kills had little effect on her psyche.

She felt that her eyes and their glow were commandeering as much as they were endearing, though she let them be both. They gave her the wherewithal to perform and she was championed through them.

Initiation by crimson tears and breathlessness. The sentiment lingered and she found it hard to be rid of.

* * *

He thought he could get away from trouble if he crossed over to the next condominium by the walkway.

But there was a girl there.

She was leaning against the clear windows, the clouds drifting above her shoulders, taking in the scenery. A very dark brunette with arms crossed and unsettling eyes.

He glared at her while walking by. She did the same.

The doors to the other condominium were only a few paces away.

He heard the sliding of a bullet into a chamber. He put his hands in the air in surrender.

She walked behind him, put him in a chokehold with her left arm, and shoved the gun against his lower back. She turned and made him face the town and desert beyond. The sun was setting, turning the sky from a bright blue to a darker azure.

"Would you beg a snake for mercy?" she asked quietly.

"N-nnn-no!" he shouted with every fiber of his being.

He noticed that the arm around his neck had black trails going up the forearm to her elbow. It was wrapped by a snake coiling with haunting ribbons.

"That's too bad."

He heard the gun sound. The man saw red splatter on the window and a hole through his abdomen. She shot at the window four times, cracking the glass, and finally gave him a boost.

A flock of birds flew through a formation of drifting vapor as they headed back through the desert. The clouds shimmered in their thick masses while the sun illuminated them, leaving its mark on silver lining with rays of pastel and vaporous mixes of scarlet watercolor.

* * *

The informant was on his fifth coffee. The newspaper was always the same: drama, drivel, and diplomacy. He threw it on the table after having read through it twice over and tapped the floor with the tip of his worn shoes with impatience. He was just about ready to leave when he saw the two girls walk back into the diner.

They approached and sat down in the booth. The black-haired girl looked mean as ever. The beige-haired girl had more of a spunk to her than earlier but with tired eyes. She looked like she needed to get some sleep.

"How's it going, ladies?"

"Could be better" the black-haired girl stated honestly. She was way too serious for her own good, though she did come off as being a bit playful. The other girl didn't reply. She just looked at him, neutral, like an empty book.

"Did you get the job done?"

The black-haired girl hinted at the other girl to get up and turn the old TV on. She did so dutifully. The local news channel was reporting live about several homicides which happened to take place at the condominium uptown. The incident happened just half an hour earlier. There were depictions of shattered glass, bullet holes in the hallways, and copious amounts of blood.

Live footage of a body being removed from below the condominium walkways, after having fallen from several stories above, kept repeating over and over again.

A news correspondent was reporting the story, saying:

"…four men are dead, among the deceased being Ali Bricardiao, a big-business entrepreneur who was a majority stockholder for several petroleum distributors throughout the region. His death has sparked a search for several suspects, primarily a young girl with beige hair and red shirt and another girl with black hair and a green jacket, though authorities are unaware if the girls were working in conjunction…"

Several men sitting on the bar and in nearby seats turned and looked at the trio sitting in the booth. Alphard glared at them with daring eyes. They turned back around and returned to their meals and drinks like they hadn't seen anything.

The informant didn't believe it. He hadn't thought they would follow through with the mission, especially so effectively. He looked at the black-haired girl, having found a new respect for her piercing gaze – and a new fear as well.

The correspondent continued:

"…investigators are unable to retrieve video footage of the suspects due to an unknown interference which interrupted recording throughout the entire eastern condominium. Eyewitness descriptions of the suspects are being collected, but not without reluctance from guests. Investigation into the homicides is saying that foul play is almost certainly involved…"

Seeing that their side of the business transaction was complete, the informant slipped an envelope across the table, stood, and approached the entrance with quick feet, wanting to get away from the child killers as soon as possible.

"Are we done?" Canaan asked, looking at the bulky envelope next to the coffee mug in front of them.

"It seems that way" Alpha answered while taking the envelope and pulling out the money inside. She took out the currency, noting several high denominations in the front and smaller ones nearing the end of the bundle.

She was suspicious.

She removed a bill from the back, took out some of her own wrinkled money, and laid both bills side by side. She felt the texture with both her index and middle fingers, moving them across the printed ink of both bills. She then raised the bill against the window, looking through it with what little light remained from the setting sun.

She wasn't satisfied.

Canaan was perplexed with why she was being so thorough. She was tired and still hurting and just wanted to go home.

_Home…_

Alphard got out the booth, went toward the bar, drawing suspicion from the bartender, and soaked the bill on the table in traces of booze spilled in drunken stupors. When she lifted it up, she was pissed to see some of the ink coming undone, like tears fraying mascara down cheeks in discolored streaks. She crumpled the paper, took the envelope off the table, and threw it in the trash.

"Order a coffee" Alphard told Canaan eerily. She then ran toward the door and blew it open in a hurried sprint.

Canaan sat down and looked out the window quietly. A waiter came by and asked her if she wanted anything. She asked for water.

* * *

Alphard saw the informant walking down a dirty sidewalk in his blue jeans and brown jacket, just about to turn the corner. She dashed across the street, alerting him, and began giving chase. Bypassers watched befuddled, not understanding why a grown man was running away from a teenage girl.

He bumped into an alley wall, recovered, and continued through the wasting path, avoiding debris in his spirited flight. He tripped over a step he didn't gauge properly, looked over his shoulder, and saw the girl standing with a gun in her hand.

"Please…"

She pulled the trigger twice. His arms fell limp.

Red fused with the dirt festered ground, the shimmering color tainted by gravel and grime.

She searched through his clothes, pulled out a bundle of cash which he had folded on the inside of his jacket, and proceeded with the cleanup process which she wasn't at all excited to do. She opened up a dumpster nearby, slid his body by the arms, leaned the front of his body against the metal frame, lifted him up by his waist, and incrementally hoisted his corpse into the deep black bottom, resounding with a loud crash. She closed the top, removed the suppressor from her gun, and put it at her waist. With her hands in her jacket pocket, she left the alley and made her way back to the diner, having grown tired of running around town.

* * *

Canaan had been waiting outside the diner for Alpha since she felt uneasy inside where the men and women kept giving her bizarre looks. When she looked to her right, she saw Alpha walking down the street, and was happy that she had returned. She seemed tired as well, her eyes drowsy and mouth yawning. She scratched behind her head, releasing her frustration for having gone through the unnecessary hassle more than she was addressing the itch which bothered her.

"Can we go now?" Canaan nagged while rubbing out her eyes.

"Yeah. I just had to take out the trash."

She continued walking, Canaan following behind her. They stopped before crossing an intersection, avoiding the sirens of squad cars going down the street. Alphard hopped onto the bike, turned on the ignition, and gestured for Canaan to hop on when she was comfortable. They had to hurry and get away before somebody became too curious.

Canaan leaned her head against Alpha's back and dozed off while they kicked up dirt through the darkening pale of the dim lit expanse. She didn't want to fall asleep but her eyes were tired and suggested otherwise. With arms wrapped tightly around Alpha's belly, her mind drifted through her first day as a mercenary at the same dreary pace with which the bike rumbled through the cold desert evening.


	7. Chapter 6 - Lint and Amber Sparks

Chapter 6 – Lint and Amber Sparks

There wasn't any alcohol in the refrigerator. Juice, milk, and water were nice and all but they couldn't wash away bad memories like a cold glass of champaign or, less preferably, a case of beer.

Siam looked into the refrigerator like something would suddenly appear if he stared long enough at the same empty spot. Whatever he was craving wasn't there.

The door slammed shut after a light push with his right hand. He walked out the kitchen and stood next to the counter while looking into the void living room. His firearm sat on the counter, the barrel facing the T.V. in the opposite corner.

He hadn't thought he worried so much about them. He knew they would be alright, but couldn't help it, regardless.

He didn't want to stay in the empty cabin by himself. For him, that defeated the purpose.

He went to toward the staircase passageway, opened the door leading outside, and climbed down a few steps before sitting on one near the bottom. He took out another cigarette, which was the last one in the box, placed it in his mouth, flicked a match ablaze, and lit it while covering the small flame with the cuff of his hand. When the smoke fumed into his mouth, he put the match out and placed it underneath his boot, his usual habit.

The nicotine helped, but only a little bit. The smoke only hazed reminiscence. It couldn't drown away times long passed like he would have liked.

The stars in the sky were scattered and luminous in their infinity. They brimmed beautifully. He could identify Canis Major along with two other constellations in the clear night. As if plastered against a celestial poster and completely disposed, Siam traced lines with his fingers from one shining twinkle to another teeming sparkle, drawing the shapes of chariots and their horned steeds, rodents, and spanning his hand over the Milky Way. The river murmured gently while flowing past the cabin, tranquility abounding from the flowing current. The embers falling from the butt of his cigarette glowed in the foreground of the nightscape before vanishing in the air.

His cigarette depleted. The grey particles on the front end fell into his mouth while he removed the exhausted joint from his lips and put it out underneath his boot near the snuffed match. He leaned forward, clasped both his hands in his lap, and sat quietly, absorbing the scenery while trying to run. His efforts were to no avail. He just couldn't get away.

* * *

_Six years ago…_

He should have gotten his jacket.

The smoke seeped from his breath heavily. He watched as the white haze appeared, spread, and disappeared while sitting on the snowcapped slope. The trees around him were evergreen and ever resilient with their peeling trunks, prickly branches, and peaking tips. The forested area behind him grew the trees in abundance while the snow white landscape in front of him grew the trees more sporadically with their wide spacing. The sky reflected the white brilliance, uniformly grey, reflecting the color of the snow it dropped egregiously. His dark colored shirt and black pants were covered further by white, alabaster, and crystal with each snowflake, falling with no signs of letting up.

His body shivered. It wouldn't have surprised him if he had become cold-blooded. He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm his hands which only made them colder when the heat from the friction was no more. It was a marvel that the river downhill was still flowing. If he remained lacking layers any longer, he might freeze over or contract frostbite. He wanted to wash his hands in hot water, but that would only make his fingers stiff and swollen, a painful alternative to his already inconvenient condition.

At the bank of the river was the only oddity of the otherwise white wonderland: black boots, black pants, a dark green shirt, and a conspicuous pink jacket.

He wished she'd hurry.

He saw her rise, take the large jugs filled with cold, fresh water in both hands, and run up the hill in a joyous sprint, careless as to the chaotic steps she took while returning to him.

"Be careful!" he yelled while fearfully watching her run up the incline.

"Don't… worry! I'll be… fine…!"

She slipped and fell into the snow face first.

"Amberlyn…" Siam complained, getting up to run to her aid. "You have to pay more attention!"

She was a pristine, petite, pouty princess of the snow. He found her humiliation to be entertaining, her royal status reduced to jester in the audience of his majesty.

She sat up in the snow, her legs hugging either side of her body, while her hands were plastered against the snow. Luckily, the jugs of water she had dropped were capped and none of their contents spilled out. He bent down to one knee, brushed off the snow which had collected on her jacket and long reaching, silky brown hair, and checked her for injuries. She was frustrated the whole time, her head down and mouth perked outward in undignified embarrassment. She didn't like the fact that he was laughing at her being a klutz.

"Are you alright?" Siam asked, wanting to make sure she didn't have any injuries.

She nodded unhappily.

Siam's smile grew larger. "Don't be mad at me. You're the one who fell down in the snow."

"You're so mean…"

Siam was pleasantly appalled by her comment. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you're laughing at me."

"What'd you expect? Does it make me a bad person if I laugh at you after falling in the snow?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed vehemently, "It makes you a horrible person!"

He noticed that she was being a sore loser, so he continued to tease her: "You make it hard not to laugh at you."

She hit him gently on the chest with the bottom of her gloved fist, budging his muscular frame in her lighthearted effort to make him stop.

"Alright, alright!" he conceded. "Maybe you can laugh at me and we'll make it even."

She crossed her arms with an angry face and watched as he got up, walked a few paces backward, and stood still. He turned and looked at her before submitting to his fate to appease her wrath. He leaned forward and fell face-first into the snow without even bracing himself.

He turned and sat on his bottom, his eyelids, eyebrows, cheeks, and beard recolored white, wanting to see if she was laughing. Instead, all he saw was an unamused face and boots tapping in the snow. She was hard to entertain.

He smiled and showed all the snow that had gotten into his teeth and mouth. She finally broke and burst out laughing. He loved to see her laugh.

"See? Wasn't that funny?" he inquired while standing to wipe the snow from his clothes, face, and hair.

"No! It wasn't that funny!" she denied while wiping the cold tears of laughter from her eyes.

"But you seemed pretty happy about it."

"I guess," she dismissed as the lingering amusement dissipated, "but that was only because you caught me off guard!"

"I didn't know people had to drop their guards in order to laugh."

"They don't! It's just that falling in the snow is embarrassing!"

"Yeah, well, maybe you should be more careful and I won't have to laugh at you."

"Yeah, whatever" she pouted. He went to pick up the water she had dropped. The exhalation out of his nose tickled his shaved mustache along his upper lip. He always seemed to be obstructed by his own breath which vaporized upon exiting in heavy fumes. The temperature that day was the lowest of the month and would only continue to drop despite the onset of spring.

They didn't have to worry about collecting water at least for another day. It was their daily ritual, along with other more laborious tasks, that would help them get through the frigid temperatures. He bent down to one knee, hearing the water shake in their containers, and waited for her. She hopped on tightly, wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his sides, and smiled happily. She always liked the daily piggyback ride.

"Are you ready?"

"You ask me that every time, Daddy."

"Only because I want to make sure. Redundancy is endearing. Remember that."

"I don't really know what that means, but it sounds nice." She tapped his shoulder atop her saddle, signaling for them to return home.

"Let's go!"

* * *

The walk home was serene, as it always was. They could only hear the scrunch of Siam's boots in the collecting snow, which was adding another layer to several centimeters. They would past by the occasional evergreen lining the path back home. The mountains, high rising and poignant with their ragged cliffs and snowcapped peaks, escalated in their periphery. Their treacherous summits were innumerable; the range extended for kilometers and kilometers, climbing and falling, ascending and descending far beyond where their eyes could reach. Their presence was mighty in the whitewashed tundra and served as landmarks wherever they traveled.

Going through the area, they saw a moose walking by with its head down, probing the snow. Its antlers were worn out, but still sturdy and resilient. They hung over its head in intricate graphs, like the branches of a tree. It looked up and peered at the two walking by with a cautious, yet indifferent gaze. She motioned toward it with a wave of her hand to see if she could invoke a response. It turned away and continued going through the snow, dutifully.

Amberlyn watched as her ride slowly began drifting sideways behind a nearby tree. She wondered why he didn't keep moving when their destination was straight ahead. She looked down and could see that his face was more cautious, having suddenly changed from its previously carefree visage. Peeking around the tree, she could see as a white silhouette traversed the snow with its snout near the ground, tail lowered, and ears perked. Its furry coat, brighter than the snow on the ground, and tentatively calm demeanor were the only gentle aspects of the white wolf. She liked looking at their ghostlike beauty despite her knowledge of their ferocity. It looked in her direction, to which she fearfully hid herself behind the tree's bark, but moved away, finding no interest in the area while heading past a thick patch of trees.

"That was close" she let out, relieved.

"Yeah. We don't need any trouble from those guys."

"But it's not like we couldn't handle one _little _wolf."

"If we don't have to make trouble, there's no reason to."

"But they're so cute! I wish I could pet it."

"That's one chance I won't let you take."

She knew better but didn't really want to believe. She watched it go its separate way as he continued marching through the rising snow. The snowfall surrounded its figure until she could no longer could see it treading through the freezing ground.

While looking up from behind his back, she saw a bird flying circles in the air and eventually land on one of the trees several meters away from them. In the air, it looked so small. Quite the opposite: the bird, which was an eagle, was considerably large and was sizing _them_ up as they journeyed through the snow. It would often open its wings, as if to flaunt its winged supremacy, and fold them gently along its body while searching for prey. It played surveyor until contented, released its claws from the tree's branch, and gathered lift while ascending through the air. She watched it soar and eventually disappear into the white distance.

The smoke was always the sign that they were near home. The thin threads of grey fumes exited the chimney in the distance and rose above the trees several meters below. The smell around their cabin changed as well. An incendiary aroma permeated the air at the end of their daily trip. She unwrapped her arms from around his neck and dropped down, subsequently running through the trees to get to the house before he did.

"Remember what I told you!" he yelled as she joyously ran through the snow.

She ignored him before reaching the steps of the logged cabin.

"I beat you, Daddy!" she boasted to his bewilderment.

"I didn't know I was racing you…" he mumbled to himself while smiling cheerfully and realizing that he never had a chance of winning.

* * *

He put the jugs down on the table next to the door, removed his gloves, and went straight toward the fireplace. His hands were still too cold from the negative degree temperature outside, so he let them thaw next to the flickering fire. The floors curved below his bottom in semi-circular creases; they were mixes of hunter green and brown and just as rough as they were sturdy.

He needed to get his body warm again as soon as possible. He had a love-hate relationship with the harsh conditions: the atmospheric serenity of the snow was tranquil as much as the silence was eerie, but the damn cold sometimes was overbearing. He supposed that it was better than being in a desert.

He could hear the muffed rustle of Amberlyn in the only room of the cabin. She must have been removing her heavy layers for something lighter.

There was a single shredded couch next to him. It seemed to have overextended its usage with its peeling stocking, creaky legs, and scratched cushions that actually belonged to other couches. It was his and to the extent of its remaining dignity, he was proud of it… somewhat.

A bookshelf flanked the wall on his left. It contained children's stories, fairy tales, old folklores, and French love stories. He didn't know how in the world the shelf had ended up with the foreign stuff: _une nuit et toutes les autres, un inconnu couleur de rêve, ensemble à Anchoterrias,_ and a bunch of other books he wouldn't dare to read. Amberlyn, however, liked reading them. He was impressed with how she was able to pick up on another language without formal teaching. The fluffy stories themselves weren't to his liking, but he concluded that it was natural for a girl to have an optimistic outlook on love, no matter how fantastical, at a young age. Once she got older, she would realize the stories and reality were as distant as the sky to the ground. Maybe she'd have better luck then he did.

The only room in the cabin belonged to her. Down the hallway behind him, the bedroom, its door covered with colorful drawings of stick figures and panoramic sketches, resounded with the sounds of her jumping on her soft-spring mattress. She was always so energetic.

Across from the bedroom was a compact restroom which had the bare minimums and nothing else. Running water was a luxury they did not have.

There was an attic above which he used to store emergency food, old papers, and other junk which would be clutter anywhere else in their small efficiency. He didn't like going up there unless he really had to.

An axe leaned against the brick slabs below the lower mantel of the fireplace with the dangerous end turned toward the wall. Precarious splinters were lodged in its handles after repeat use and wear. In addition to the hack, there was an old Springfield M1A rifle next to the door. It had a trigger lock and padlock, the keys to which he always kept with him. Although he hadn't used it in a while, he didn't want her getting too curious.

His hands were finally dried with only an internal tingle running from his fingers down to his wrist still lingering. He flexed his fingers in and out to restore sensation. The fire could no longer be sustained by the wood turned ashen in the exhausted heath.

Logs of cut wood, though not as many as he'd like, were stacked behind him flanking the passageway to Amberlyn's room. He went and grabbed a bunch, threw them in the heath, and watched as the fires consumed the moist wood from the outside-in, eating away at their once fine coats. The black soot picked up beneath the gathering flames and returned only to be burnt anew.

He wanted to go pick up some more knowing that he wouldn't be able to tomorrow with what was going to happen. She was too excited and he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything else for the entirety of the day.

She emerged from the room having switched from her fitted jacket to a long-sleeved shirt and hoodie. Her hair went way past her neck to the center of her back even in a ponytail. A long strand of frizzed hair fell down the side of her head in front of her ear. Compared to his short and scruffy hair, she was abundant. It couldn't have come from him.

She looked at him quietly. She could tell what he was thinking just by watching his demeanor. She often times didn't know why she got angry or frustrated from a lack of composure with her own emotions, but she could always understand what he was thinking, almost intuitively. He was about to tell her that they needed to go back out for whatever reason.

"Amber."

"Yeah?" she answered, forewarned.

"I have to go and get some wood for the fireplace."

"Do we have to go back into the cold?" she questioned, unsurprised and annoyed.

"If you don't want to do anything tomorrow, we have to get the essentials so we don't fall behind."

"No. That's not it. You just always feel the need to work and _overcompensate_ when we can do it some other time."

There was a pinch of truth there. He was always looking ahead to supply their needs and sometimes overworked himself. That couch was mostly used to rest his weary body from working too hard instead of sleeping at night. He didn't want to give her more evidence then she already had, but they were quite short on wood. That was unlike him.

"I only need one tree's worth. I won't take more than half an hour."

She sighed. She couldn't stop him from smothering supplies, no matter how much she tried. She knew that he was only doing it for her sake.

"Fine. I'll come with you. But this is the last thing you'll be doing today!"

He thought about the rest of the day. They had food. Water. He had already scouted the area earlier that morning. They just needed wood.

"I guess so" he muttered reluctantly.

"Good!" She asserted while walking back into the room to grab her gloves. "No work tomorrow!"

He stood and watched her walk away while shaking his head, humorously. He only felt at ease when he knew that she was taken cared of and safe. She wouldn't even let him do what made him most happy. Resolute, he stood near the door, the axe in his hand, while waiting for her to emerge so they could brace the cold together.

* * *

She was bent at knee level with her head cradled between her two knees. He rotated and swung. She blinked. He rotated and swung again. She blinked. Again. And again.

How industrial. The motion was always the same: he'd hack the crease, remove the blade, swivel his arm with the right hand just below the shoulder and lug, his left hand gripping the throat of the handle, and contort his body laterally, exerting his back with each heavy swing. He repeated the movement, each swing more efficient than the last, exhausting his breath on impact. The tree leaned incrementally, its fate precariously imminent. He swung. She blinked.

When the rings of the tree were almost completely exposed, he motioned toward her to move away. She got up, moved a few paces backward, and lowered her knees to the snow. He swung twice more, threw the axe in the snow, walked to the other side of the tree, and pushed it forward with his hands. Bark still connected to the stump cracked, the tree budged, and eventually fell over, the sound of cracking branches permeating the isolated forestation.

Her anticipation jumped too far ahead. She was frustrated to see him begin chopping at the fallen tree, cutting off the end where the branches and leaves began. She thought he could just drag the tree to the cabin and call it a day. Lumberjacking was more tedious than she thought.

She began to time the motion. Every four seconds, another chop. Hearing the cutting edge slice through the thick wood with its loud _chuck, chuck, chuck _was bothersome. Instead, she counted snowflakes as they fell. There were so many and they were falling in heavier numbers.

When he had what he considered a good ration for the next few weeks, he dropped the axe and began stacking them in loads of three, the most he could carry.

"Aren't those pieces too big to go into the fireplace?" she inquired, looking at him while carrying the loads back to the cabin.

"Yeah," he started, "I'll have to cut them down some more, but we still have enough wood to last the rest of today and tomorrow. I'll take care of these a few days from now."

She got up, went toward one of the huge lugs of wood, and lifted it with her small frame. She was marveled with how he was able to carry three of those monstrosities when she could barely lift one. She struggled with it, her arms around the circumference, and carried it to the side of the cabin.

"Need some help?" he asked as he approached her. He hadn't thought that she'd be willing to help.

"N-n-no!" she grunted while straining her way up a small slope. He braced her, making sure she'd be OK, before letting her carry it back herself. He smiled. He didn't mind the help.

Eventually, they finished, Siam carrying heavy loads while Amberlyn carried one piece at a time. The sun had begun setting, turning their grey sky into a semi-permeable veil, allowing the rays to slip through the clouds and drape the white tundra in luminous sheets. The snowfall finally let up, at least for the time being.

They sat in front of the cabin, watching the evening turn to night. Siam had worked up a sweat only to be frozen over. He looked at Amberlyn sitting next to him, picking off small pieces of dirt, slush, bark, or splinters that remained on her clothes. With her thumb and index finger, she moved down her hoodie and removed every impurity with considerable accuracy. In that respect, she was similar to him. They were both meticulous to a fault, except she'd rather focus on aesthetic and leisure instead of necessities.

"Why'd you decide to help me?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Because I felt like it."

A feisty answer. But if he pressed, he could get an honest response out of her. She wasn't too hard to break.

"Come on, that's not good enough."

"Why's that?"

"Could you imagine if I was feeling like you when it comes to us? You would ask me 'Why aren't you doing anything?' and I'd say 'I don't feel like it.' We'd starve and freeze in a few hours. Plus, it's not like you."

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want you to do it all yourself."

"Hmmm…" he pondered while looking at the orange and pink luster drifting amid the sun setting landscape, "I don't think that's it."

"Then what is it?" she demanded, wanting to know how well he could probe her psyche.

"I'm thinking that you might have felt bad if you didn't help."

She closed her eyes and thought about his response. It wasn't quite right but he did allude to a certain aspect of her motivation.

"Something like that."

"I'm not wrong, am I?

"I just didn't want you to work too hard for my sake. You were only getting more wood today because I don't want you to do anything tomorrow. It wouldn't be fair."

It was nice to see that she was thinking about him and blushing at the same time. She looked away at something that wasn't there, embarrassed.

"I would have to had done it eventually, so it doesn't matter. We can be glad that we got it done earlier. And we did it together."

"Yeah, I guess…"

She looked up at the reddened sky above the white tundra; the séance of two distinctly bright colors, one fading into black night in vermillion luster, the other clear in crystalized sheets stretching to the horizon itself, made her feel a welcoming tranquility, a sentiment only augmented by the cold breeze drifting by. She couldn't feel her ears, her fingers were stiff, and her nose glowed a tender pink amid the sniffles. She knew why he liked the isolated area. If it was because of the melancholic atmosphere, she could understand.

* * *

"Daddy! Daddy!"

She was tugging at his chest vehemently. It was still so early in the morning. With the way he was sleeping like a slouch on the couch, there was little sign he was going to wake himself. His arm was flung over the armchair, his right leg had fallen to the floor, his left hand ran underneath his shirt, and his eyes were glued shut. She was annoyed.

He opened his eyes in his groggy glory and sat up slowly, as if the simple motion had been reduced to rudimentary mechanics in his morning stupor. He rubbed his eyes and tried to figure out where the hell he was while she stared at him with arms crossed and foot tapping. Whatever she'd say next would have to be some kind of chastisement.

"You're a lazy pile of bricks, you know that?"

When it came to getting up in the morning, sure. For the rest of the day, she couldn't be more wrong. But he knew why she was being so pressing: it was her favorite time of the year. Her excitement couldn't be quelled, so it manifested as frustration with his lack of timeliness.

"Come on!" she shouted, "We have to get going!"

With his thumb and index finger, he rubbed out both his eyes with uninspired vigor. She ran back to the room to get the rest of her stuff. He stared blankly at a log on the wall while hearing her rummage through the room. He was slow to start, but had to move a little bit quicker with her dragging him along. He stood up, grabbed the jug next to the door, a bowl, and sat in front of the fireplace. He put several lugs in the heath and lit it after soaking the wood with gasoline and lighting it with a match. The fire surged and danced in revitalized brilliance.

He removed his shirt and poured some of the water into the bowl. With the cuff of both hands, he splashed water onto his face, dowsed his hair, and washed his arms down. The water which fell through his fingers were quickly absorbed by the water-deprived wood of the floor. His body was lean from always working, brutish from not being able to amply care for himself hygienically. He leaned forward on the log he was sitting on and let his hands dry from the fire and the rest of his body dry from the emitted heat.

He looked at his arms and hands and noticed the many scars he had sustained. There was a gash that ran down the inside of his arm from basic training, several callouses covering wounds from various engagements, and miscellaneous cuts and bruises from firefights and scuffles. They were remnants of a past he was trying not to have anything to do with. After his discharge under particular circumstances, he wanted to move on with what he had left. As an aversion, he always wore long sleeve T-shirts so that she wouldn't see the shards of his past covering his body.

He decided to wear something a bit brighter, for her. He got up, approached the closet that was in front of the bookshelf, and picked out a white, long-sleeved T-shirt. Slipping his arms through the sleeves, he put it on along with a hoodie. He could never wear enough layers in the unforgiving cold.

She came out the room ready to go. She had a small backpack on her back and binoculars in her hand.

"Ready?" she asked, still irritated with having to wait for him.

"Yeah. Do you have everything you need?"

"Hm-hmm. How far do we have to walk?

"It's about an hour west of here."

"Then let's hurry!"

She was already at the door while Siam grabbed a bag of provisions and carried it next to the door. He put on his jacket for safekeeping and put the bag over his shoulder. He never could understand why she was so stoked about something so underwhelming. It was nice to see her happy, even if it came at the cost of sleeping in. The fire in the heath burnt out as they departed, leaving black on seared brown, only to be lit again with their return.

* * *

"Do you see them?"

"Not yet…" she complained.

"They'll come. Just be patient."

"Isn't patience a virtue?"

"Yeah. Why?

"I guess I'm not a very virtuous person."

"Hey. Don't get too self-conscious. It's not that bad."

"Whatever."

She wouldn't put the binoculars down. They sat along a slope overlooking a vast expanse of white. If the sky and ground weren't different colors, it would look like they were one and the same. There was nothing there.

Then, she grew ecstatic.

"Oh! I see one! I finally see someone!"

Siam stood up and looked along the snowcapped plane with his hands over his forehead. He saw a black figure oscillating along the horizon. Eventually, it grew in size and he could make out the image of several dogs slashing through the snow while pulling a sled. She stood up and began cheering and yelling as each dog came into view along with the musher on the black sled. There were sixteen canines total, most of them with white and black fur, connected to one another and the sled by yellow and black harnesses in two lines. The forward dogs galloped enthusiastically, their tongues sticking out while leading the pack.

Amber stood up and yelled at the top of her lungs:

"Go! You guys are so awesome! You can do it! Go! Go!"

The musher waved at her and she waved back by swinging her hand in the air. Her face glowed with joy. Even when they had passed by, she was still cheering them onward.

"Is that the first one?!" she demanded, jubilant.

"Yeah. He's going at a good pace."

"How long will it take him to finish?"

"A few days. They have a long way to go."

"Do they sleep in the snow!?" she questioned with honest fervor.

"Yeah. They have to."

"That sucks!"

"Well, that's something they have to deal with. They knew what they were getting themselves into."

At a certain point, they could no longer see the first musher as they carved through the set path. Amberlyn's previous excitement would pale in comparison to her next phase when she saw the second musher. She immediately grew fervent as the dogs came into view along with the sled. This musher wasn't too far behind the first. When she noticed that the musher had long strands of blonde hair coming from behind the helmet and visor, she was incontrollable.

"Oh my gosh! You're even MORE awesome! Go! Go! Go! You guys can do it! Don't stop! Go! Go!"

Gender mutuality was established as soon as Amberlyn saw her. The musher waved back. A huge grin went along both sides of her face as she waved and cheered for her victory. The commonality was by itself enough to make her root for them as the black dogs led the pack through what was to be a taxing journey.

They saw three more mushers in the span of five hours. Her voice had depleted at that point. After having spent the whole day there, he decided it was time for them to leave. The evening would only bring along colder temperatures and they still had to walk back to the cabin. He stood, to which she responded negatively, not wanting to leave the path yet:

"Do we have to go yet?" she moaned emotionally.

"Yes, we do. We've been here for a while now. And I think we've seen our fair share of the race already. The next person may not come for a few more hours or even a few mor…"

He was interrupted by the sight of another sled slashing through the snow. She turned after seeing his face and was thrilled to cheer for one more team before they returned home. He waved at the musher while watching the setting sun and listening to her voice become hoarse. He was happy that she was stuck in her bliss and that he could be there to see her smile so much.

* * *

"Do you see that, Daddy?" she asked on their way back home.

He looked over to where she was pointing and saw a furry figure sprawled out in the snow. He was cautious to approach it and didn't want anything to do with corpses.

"Don't worry about it" he dismissed while keeping his head pointed forward. She kept tugging at his arm. Obviously, she was distracted by it and too curious to leave it alone.

"I think it's still alive."

Realizing that she wouldn't let them go without checking it out, he walked over to the canine laid out in the snow and assessed its condition. She was right. It was still breathing out its snout, though sparingly. It was an elegant breed. It had a black coat running along its back contrasted by white fur going up its shoulder and underneath its brisket. It barely opened its deep blue eyes; heavy-laden with pain, it struggled to move even a little bit. He examined its leg to see that it was bleeding along the ankle. When he looked at the paw prints it had left in the snow, he said red intertwined with white, leaving a thin trail in its wake.

Amberlyn stood behind him with a worried look on her face.

"We can't just leave it here like this…" Her conscience was talking. His wasn't as loud, but he had no intent of just letting it die in the snow. He pulled the bag off his back, opened it, and removed a first aid kit. Anti-bacteria, ethanol, and bandages… it was the best he had.

Every time he tried to hold the leg down, the dog would fidget and groan, making it difficult for him to do much of anything.

"Amber, can you help me out?"

She nodded and bent down beside him while holding the leg down in front of its belly. It would growl, twitch, and whimper as he wrapped the wound. Siam realized that it was a girl; she couldn't have been more than a year or two old. Amberlyn looked into its eyes and empathized with its pain. Already, she had grown an affinity for her. He could see her heart aching just as much it was suffering.

"There, there. It's going to be okay" she whispered as he was finishing up. He left the bandages around the ankle loose enough so that they weren't constricting, but tight enough so they could be effective.

"Where do you think it came from?" she quizzed while staring into its eyes.

"There's an animal shelter about three hours south of here. I suppose that it escaped and somehow ended up with this injury, if it didn't already have it."

"Is it going to be alright?" she asked, worried.

"The wound will heal. But she still seems pretty exhausted."

"It's a she?"

"Yeah…"

"Can we take Flake home?"

"Flake?"

"Yes! She won't last long if we leave her here!"

Obviously, she wanted to help it. What bothered him was that she had already grown attached to it as if it were a trusted pet. With the way she was, there was little chance they'd go back home _without_ it. She was already convinced.

"Alright."

He stood to his feet, put his bag on his back, and lifted Flake with both hands. The three of them walked back to the cabin together. Amberlyn monitored its condition the whole time, always making sure she could feel the gentle breath seep from her snout.

* * *

Flake had grown accustomed with Amberlyn. So he couldn't understand why she was still growling at him.

He looked at her while sitting on the couch with both arms spread out on the back of the sofa, flattered by the sight of her fangs glaring at him. She was a daring piece of work. The audacity was beyond him; he was the one that had helped her back to good health in the past few days. Obviously, she had no sense of gratitude.

To his dismay, as soon as Amberlyn walked into the room from the passageway, she sat down, stuck her tongue out, and looked up at her in admiration.

"Flake! Come here, girl! Aren't you just the cutest thing!"

She ran toward her, jumped on her, and began licking her viciously. The two looked like best friends. He wasn't getting any love.

"Did you feed her?" she asked while looking up from the ground.

He had forgotten. He didn't have the right of mind when all she did was growl at him.

"I'm thinking about it."

She scrunched her brows at him. Flake stopped licking her, turned, and growled at him.

"Fine! Fine!"

He got up, scratched his head, and headed toward the ladder to the attic where he kept supplementary food in storage. Maybe he could just throw some meat out the window so he wouldn't have to see her for a while.

He lifted the shaft when he was near the top rung, climbed the last two rungs, and scaled the opening. The ceiling of the attic was barely tall enough for him to fit. It had a small, triangular window near the floor in front of him which was eclipsed in white. The wooden boards were in worst condition than the logs on the floor below: they were cracking, had gashes in their surfaces, as if they were hacked by a blunt sword, constitutions revealing frozen splinters, and a sense that the whole thing was about to fall apart, even though it was still structurally sound. There were coolers on his left, where he kept the meat, and boxes in front of him, where he stored his past.

His breath was visible. Not as heavy as it would be outside, much more than he'd see on the floor below. He stood with his hands in his pockets in melancholic contemplation. Au lieu of going to the cooler, he took a few steps toward the boxes stacked one atop the other. He removed one of the boxes from the top and took off the cover. He found an arsenal of magazines of various calibers and capacities. He rummaged through them, immediately identifying what weapon they would fit into. He went through the cartridges, picking them up one after the other, turning them upside down to see if their conditions had deteriorated after being unused for so long. A bullet fell out after picking up a cartridge that would fit into an assault rifle. He watched the bullet roll to a stop after hitting the nearby wall.

He picked the bullet up and returned it to the box, which he subsequently covered, and put back. He didn't want to get too nostalgic, especially when the memories were more disturbing than they were fulfilling. But he had an urge to remind himself of why he left it behind. To remind himself why Amberlyn was more than enough reason for him to move on.

The box next to it was the one he was looking for. It was the heaviest in the attic. He dragged it out and set it on the floor with a loud thud. He was always astonished with how thin sheets of paper could have considerable weight when stacked and stacked and stacked.

They were mostly newspapers. Iced and thawed, over and again. Most of the ink on the newsprint had faded and was barely legible. The unceasing crinkling as he rummaged through the papers could be heard from outside in their isolated locale; the box was about half a meter tall and was filled to the bottom with thick packets of stories upon stories of print, spanning about four months of time. He read some of the headlines and the leads, some more sensationalist than the former, others more fictitious than the ladder, all of them written in a sense that made him feel like the guilty party:

_**Controversy in U.S. Military Leads to Federal Investigation **_

_**USMC Has Difficulty Explaining Leaked Documents Claiming Malpractice at Court Hearing**_

_**Anonymous Whistleblower "Is spreading rumors that are egregious in content as much as they are erroneous in nature"**_

_**Hearing Concerning Military Protocol and "Questionable Conduct" Gets Emotions Flaring **_

"…_**If these claims are true, than there isn't much that will be able to dismiss the charges against the battalion in question," said Federal malpractice attorney Jonathan Harper. "When it comes to these kinds of accusations, the stray bee will likely lead to the queen's hive."**_

_**Evidence Against Tactical Armament "Is not substantiated enough for any sort of conviction"**_

_**Public Outcry Dying Down after Acquittals**_

"_**Everything that has happened is demonstrative of some bitter feelings that manifested unnecessarily," said military attorney Christine Liali. "They would just like for their lives to return to normal and to forget about this defamatory ordeal."**_

They weren't the only ones.

His conscience had little influence on him. He was taught that it shouldn't impact his performance, that orders were his top priority. And still, he could hear it enticing him with subtle whispers. He wish it would just shut up and disappear like it had done for so many firefights, close-quarters encounters, and taken lives.

But the whispers continued. Always calling. Always haunting.

He capped the box and returned it to its original place. He had forgotten his original intent of coming into the attic with his reminiscent detour.

"Daddy!" she yelled into the attic, "what's taking so long? Flake is getting really hungry!"

Growl.

He opened the cooler next to him and grabbed a slab of meat for Flake. He stood and looked at the intricacies of the frozen glass rendering the window opaque. The creakiness of the rungs on the ladder was concerning, but mostly annoying. He thought about just throwing it out and cutting off access from the attic indefinitely. Although it would bring him peace temporarily, he knew that it was useless.

He would be back up there for one reason or another.

* * *

The evening's advent brought along with it dropping temperatures and heavy snowfall. Siam was sitting next to the fireplace and Amberlyn was sitting on the couch next to him with Flake laying on her stomach. Her head was braced against the armrest by a fluffy pillow, her left knee was up, and her right foot was pressing against his thigh. Her hair hung off the side of the couch and almost made contact with the floor below. Most of it was curled behind her back and fell into her hoodie while other strands streamed down her chest. She was reading a romance book with one hand and petting Flake's head with the other. He was reading a history book about philosophy, a much different topic than finding love on the beach or whatever.

She would often subconsciously bend her toes against his thigh or look up from her book to see what he was doing. He kept a straight face, knowing that she was spying on him, and flipped to the next page, effectively ignoring her.

"What are you reading?" she asked, her interest piqued by his book.

"Don't worry about it."

"Now you got me curious."

He didn't want to keep deflecting or else she'd get too interested. "It's about an Italian guy."

"Really? What's it about?"

"This guy was writing letters to a prince he knew and giving him advice about how he should rule his kingdom."

"What does he tell him?"

"He starts telling him about animals and other things" he summarized, not wanting to bog her mind down with complex ideas.

"That's more interesting than mine."

"What's wrong with yours?"

"The dumb chick broke up with the best guy in the story because she was being all needy and stuff and went straight to the jerk! It's so frustrating!"

He couldn't relate.

"That's too bad" he commented unenthusiastically as he flipped to the next page.

"Is your story a fairy tale? I like fairy tales."

"Is that because they end happily?"

"No!... well, maybe… but there's a lot of other stuff, too!"

"This one has to do with finding out how to do things… um… 'the right way.' Whether or not being a good guy or a jerk is better in certain situations."

"What about the animals?" she asked, wanting to know more about the story's plot.

"Well…" he started warily, "there's a lion and a fox."

"I like foxes."

"Why's that?"

"Hmmm… they're cute, they can jump really high, and they're really nimble on their feet!"

"What other animals do you like?" he inquired in an attempt to defer from the content of his book.

She put her finger against her mouth and looked into the air while pondering her answer. She was the kind of person that liked to give a good response when she liked the question.

"Oh! Griffins!"

"Griffins?"

"Yeah! They're fierce, mystical, and they're guardians watching over everything below and beyond!"

"Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

She took some offense to the comment. "What's wrong with griffins?"

"Nothing. I just thought you would say something more… I don't know… delicate."

"Such as?"

"Poodles. Dolphins. Or caterpillars. Butterflies, maybe…"

Flake turned her head and gnarled her teeth in his direction while making an ominous growl.

"…or huskies. Nice, soft, and sensitive huskies."

The growling intensified.

"I suppose I threw you off, then."

"Do you think it would be better to be a strong griffin or a loyal huskie?"

She set the book on the table and tapped Flake behind her head so that she'd hop down. After sitting up and stretching, she put her hands behind her head and stared out the snow covered window before giving her answer:

"How come you can't just be both? It's not like one's better than the other."

"What if you had to pick one?"

"That's too hard of a choice! I go with neither!" She crossed her arms and looked away in a pose of steadfast defiance.

"You _have to _pick one…or else…"

"Or else what?"

"...or else this!"

He jumped on her and began tickling under her arms, feet, and behind her back. For someone who could maintain a mean streak without thinking twice about it, she was highly sensitive and, therefore, extremely fun to mess around with. She rumbled, fidgeted, yelped, and laughed. She was nearly about to faint from jubilation when Flake showed her teeth and intimidated Siam, showing disapproval. He stopped, put his hands in the air in surrender, and eyed her cautiously.

"Don't worry, Flake. It's just Daddy messing around."

She sat down, hid her fangs, wagged her tail, and stuck her tongue out.

"Quite the temperate one, aren't you?" he mocked sarcastically.

"She's just being protective. I guess she can't help it. I'm feeling kinda tired. And now you got me thirsty, laughing so much."

She stood and headed toward the jugs on the creaky table next to the entrance only to find that they were empty.

"Daddy…" she complained while waving one of the jugs from side to side.

"I guess I'll have to get some more."

"But it's too late! It's too dark out and the snowfall's getting worse! Not to mention there's all kinds of creatures that like to go _hunt _in the night!"

His mind was already made up. He headed toward the closet, put on his hoodie, and went to the door to get his jacket. She watched the whole time, Flake sitting next to her, with a troubled look on her face.

"It's a good time to do it, anyway. The river is probably going to freeze over with the dropping temperatures. If I can get water tonight, then we can wait out the rest of the week until the temperature rises above freezing."

He took out the key he always kept in his pocket, took off the padlock on the rifle, and removed the trigger guard, setting it on the table.

"If I have this, does it make you feel better?" he asked, wanting to make sure she wouldn't be worried.

She shook her head.

He kneeled down in front of her and caressed the silky locks on top of her head. "Your Daddy's going to be fine. I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry your soft, pouty little head."

He stood, zipped up his jacket, and turned toward the door after swinging the rifle onto his back with the old, Velcro strap. He opened the door, letting a cold breeze enter, and turned to see if that worried regard on her face was still there. He didn't like that look. It made him feel like he was doing something wrong. He thought she was going to protest; instead, resolutely, she waved and muttered:

"Take care, Daddy."

He smiled, closed the door behind him, and walked into the cold, white night.

* * *

The stock of the rifle was a piece of crap. He usually kept his weapons in better condition. It became apparent that he needed to replace it.

His right leg was leaning onto the bank of the river. Crushing the ice on the surface proved to be harder than he thought.

The ice had frozen over until completely solid, so much so that had he not been repeatedly been cracking the ice with the butt of the rifle, it would have been able to support his weight in an hour's time. A few centimeters more, and the water would be his for the taking. Raising the butt of the rifle to shoulder length, he lunged down at the surface, shattered the ice, and surged a small, gurgling geyser.

He sat against the bank and filled the jugs while looking into the night sky. Through the thick layers of clouds, he could see a bright moon unmoving in the celestial canvas as if it were frozen still. He felt like he was the only living being around for kilometers on end. His breath fogged his vision, but was the only thing that made him feel alive beside his cold-blooded heartbeat. Nothing moved. The tranquility was disturbing. The silent night was peaceful and unsettling at the same time.

He did notice while looking up in the air that there were an unusual amount of jet streaks sitting in the air. The local airspace usually had one or two, but not three or four, even five. Capping both jugs, he stood and hurried back to the cabin, feeling uneasy.

Then, he heard the sound. He knew it too well. He had been around too many not to recognize the sound. The enveloping, _chopping _sound.

He looked into the sky and saw it. A black bird. Only this one had a rotor blade, cockpit, and several gunners.

* * *

"Oh, no…"

He dropped the jugs and set out in a full sprint. Going through the snow was a laborious task; with each step, he kicked up snow, lost traction, and felt like he was going to slip. The helicopter dropped several ropes and he saw as four heavily armed figures slid down not too far from the cabin's vicinity.

He dodged trees, avoided branches, and jumped over precarious patches as he headed toward the cabin. The haunting figures fell, the dash toward the cabin didn't feel fast enough, his past was catching up with him.

He threw the antique rifle off his back to shed extra weight while looking for a certain tree in his hectic sprint. He came upon a tree engraved, seemingly with a hatchet, which read:

A / T / M / A / B / N / E / G / R / O /

Amber. Tango.

He stopped in front of the tree, half-panting, and began digging through the snow with his hands. He uprooted the frozen ground until he came upon a sturdy, metal case. He dug through the surrounding area until a large enough clearance was created, grabbed the unearthed handle, and pulled the case out. The snow mounds fell back into the hole due to his anxious mania manifesting in sporadic movements and nerve-racking worry. He undid the latch on the case and opened it, revealing weapons more suited for his biggest fear.

The M4 Carbine, day/night scope, along with the Beretta M9, were seated snugly in compartmentalized slots. Their magazines, four for the rifle and three for the handgun, were next to them. Two grenades sat near the top.

He put the grenades in his back pocket. He took the handgun, loaded it, pulled on the slide, and put it behind his waist. He did the same with the Carbine; he was fully armed after pulling back on the charging handle. His face was deadly serious. The heartless mentality returned.

He was a soldier again.

He ran through the woods until he had a good angle on the soldiers approaching the cabin. Their proximity was much closer than his, and, in a short time, they'd be inside the cabin.

He still had the veil of secrecy, at least that's what he thought. The vantage given by the helicopter encompassed a wide area; it would be a miracle if they knew he wasn't there.

When he came upon a silhouette walking about fifteen meters from where he was, he put the stock against his shoulder, aimed through the scope, and opened fire. The bullets chopped through bark, rattling through the woods, and hit the soldier several times in the chest. That wasn't good enough for him. They had a tendency to wear Teflon.

He took a grenade from behind his pocket, removed the pin, took a stable stance, and threw it where the soldier fell. A few seconds later, he heard the explosion, saw snow and dirt scatter, along with white and red vapors spray into the air.

He hid behind a tree once the gunshots started ripping past him. He had seen two of the soldiers enter the cabin.

He pulled the pin from his other grenade and threw it in the direction where the bullets were coming from. The soldier, having seen a small, green device land ominously in the snow about six meters away from him, dived sideways. The burning shrapnel lifted through the air, seared everything within a five meter radius, and sent fragmentation into the soldier's back and shoulder, despite having avoided the brunt of the blast. Before he got up, he saw a tall man in a grey jacket and ivory pants, with a frighteningly callous regard, aim down a rifle, and pull the trigger.

As blood seeped from his head, he looked down and noticed the insignia on the soldier's tactical vest. The black apparitions of his past were haunting him anew in the white night.

The cabin was just behind him. With his mentality too focused on eliminating nearby threats, he had forgotten about the helicopter. It was making a pass through the area, coming straight toward the cabin. Frantically, he ran away in the direction perpendicular the cabin, provoking the helicopter to follow, so that it wouldn't mow his home down.

The bullets shredded through the ground behind him as he dove for cover behind another tree. The tree was berated with 30 mm bullets and could stand no more damage through its bark. The top half of the tree fell forward, nearly crushing him had he not rolled for safety. Immediately, he was once again bipedal, took off, as if at the sound of a gunshot starting a race, and scampered to the cabin without wasting any time. The haze which seeped from his mouth couldn't keep up with his hysteric pace and fluttered through the air with each exhalation.

He could hear her screaming, screaming, screaming.

Flake was mauling one of the soldiers. Several gunshots rang, a whimper, and more screaming.

"No! Flake! Flake!"

The cabin was less than five meters away, but he felt that it was further than the nearest star in the galaxy.

One of the windows broke and he could see the barrel of the rifle stick out the window next to the entrance, aiming straight toward him. Without even thinking, he jumped laterally, avoiding the bullets piercing through the snow filled air, and braced his dive with his forearms. Disheveled, he bent his right know forward, stood on his left leg, and plastered his bare hands against the snow for a jumpstart. Eventually, he came to the door, burst through it, and aimed his gun at the soldier. He responded by swinging at Siam with the butt of his gun, which he swiftly ducked, reacted to with a swing of his own rifle, shoving him backwards, and putting four bullets into him. His blood splattered against the wall, was smeared while falling across it, and followed in a trail created as his arms and legs slumped over near the fireplace.

He saw Flake in front of the fireplace. The crimson spilled before the heath was lit by the illumination of the gentle flames. He couldn't see her face. All he saw was three holes in the back of her lifeless body.

"Daddy…!"

He turned to see her at the start of the passageway. Her face was flooded with tears. She was distraught, shivering from the cold, and wholly fear-stricken.

She stumbled forward.

"Amber!"

He saw as the hand of the remaining soldier returned from her back to the center of his assault rifle, adjust properly, and hover over the trigger.

Fire.

Fire.

He took two hits to the shoulder, dove forward while shielding her from the remaining fire, pulled out his Beretta, and put five shots into his body. He stumbled back haphazardly, still firing into the air, and peeled over backward, his rifle settling next to him.

He had his body covering hers. He could see as blood dripped onto the floor from his shoulder. The pain was eerie, as if he couldn't feel it. It just didn't hurt. He was happy that it was his blood and not hers. He looked in her eyes while rubbing the soft strands of her delicate hair. She looked into his deeply, never removing them from his protective gaze.

"Daddy, are you OK?" she asked, seeing the blood falling from her periphery.

"Yeah, I'll be fine! Don't worry, OK? Your Daddy's fine!"

"What about Flake?" she asked, tiredly.

He lied. "She… she's going to be alright. Don't worry, OK? You hear me?"

She nodded.

"Are you OK? You didn't get hurt, Amber?"

She shook her head.

He smiled but only temporarily when he realized that she was lying: scarlet finally surfaced from behind her little body after having leaked through her hoodie and collecting against her back.

Crossfire.

"Amber! Amber!" His eyes grew watery and his voice hoarse. "What did I tell you about lying!? You don't lie to your father!"

"Did I protect you, Daddy?..." she muttered, straining.

The question shook every fiber of his being. As if the cold breeze couldn't make him any number, he couldn't feel anything except the water surging to his eyes.

"Yeah… you protected Daddy. Just like a little griffin… you protected Daddy…" He wiped the moisture falling from her eyes. He didn't want to see her crying when he was about to breakdown.

She smiled.

"That makes me happy… really happy…"

The light in her eyes disappeared.

"Amber!? Come on, Amber! Amber!? Amb-"

His yelling was impeded by the sound of bullets riddling the cabin from above. He swallowed his emotions, picked up the assault rifle with trembling hands, and stood to his feet.

The helicopter was turning around for another pass. When it had the cabin directly before it, bullets tore into the frame from below. The pilot could only see a lone figure shooting into the air by the flash muzzle. It maneuvered sideways when the bullets began compromising the exterior and threatening the pilot. He came back for another lower altitude run, this time his finger hovering over the missile launchers, only to be riddled by another set of bullets. The bullets cracked the window at the same time he pressed on the missile launch, firing several rockets into the ground below. The floor was littered with destruction. Explosions and flames abounded all around the cabin's vicinity and turned the once serene landscape into a small battlefield. The pilot pulled away to the right but couldn't see as it came too close to a tree that clipped one of the rotor blades and sent equilibrium into disarray. He tried to return stability to the viciously spinning aircraft to no avail. Another bladed swiped the branch of the tree, the helicopter careened in no certain direction, and dipped to the floor below. The screeching grind of the remaining blades crashing into the floor and disintegrating pierced deeply through the hollow air before it came to a stop in a wreck of debris, fire, and blood.

The assault rifle didn't make a sound when it fell into the snow. His knees slid onto the snow. His hands, bare, griped in the crystal white flakes. Ember sparks flooded the air from the fires brimming around him. Blood fell, flowed frivolously, and froze along with the snow falling from the dark sky above. Tears crystalized on contact as he moaned and mourned, quietly calling out her name.

They wanted him dead. All they did was take his life away.

* * *

There was nothing to return to. No home. No one.

He didn't know where he was going. He picked a direction. He had a bag on his shoulder, but didn't really know why he was carrying it. He just kept walking, walking, walking.

Endlessly.

He came upon a sea and a port. There were several piers sitting along the shore with a town next to it. The panorama was snow white. Pure, as if he could wash himself clean in the color.

The blank color.

It didn't matter. No amount of snow or water could cleanse him of his torment.

He walked until he was on the pier and took a seat on a bench. Freight ships, loaded with cargo and tons of stockpile, were anchored along the pier. The gigantic boxes were painted with Chinese symbols delegating foreign enterprises and corporations. The ships themselves were unaesthetically pleasing. Rust had culminated over so many years so as to have covered the port and starboard side of the ships in a layer of mildew and grime. Had it not been for the grease, the cracking red paint of the ships might have given off some sort of a good impression.

He sat on a bench and stared off into the distance as if he could create something out of nothing. The inside of his hands were blistered. His shoulder hadn't been properly tended to. He just felt tired.

A man in brown boots, black, baggy pants, a plaid, red shirt with a black vest, a heavily bearded face, and a black hat came walking down the pier. He was quite the happy spirit with his nonchalant stride and carefree demeanor. He took a seat next to Siam and began talking out loud as old men do when they want to make conversation:

"Dealin' with the cold is quite the hassle, ain't it?"

…

The man was persistent. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit the end with a lighter, and offered him one:

"Smoke?"

He never smoked around her. It would be the first one in a long time. He took a cigarette, put it above his bottom lip, and let the guy light it for him. The smoke flooded his system and helped, albeit barely, to get his mind away from his misery.

After a moment of silence, the old man stated again:

"Can I tell ya something?" he asked.

"Yeah…" Siam responded unenthusiastically as smoked seeped from his mouth.

"You look like shit."

He took it as a compliment. He felt much worse.

"Lady trouble?" the old man inquired, intuitively.

"Something like that."

"If you want to get away, this freight here is goin' across the Berling to that place out there with all them damn people. You'll be so far away, you'll forget all about her! I guarantee ya!" he boasted jubilantly, the secretions from the back of his throat surging forward to make his laugh more commanding.

…

"Listen, bud, it's just a suggestion. Wouldn't wanna get ya all worked up just to make ya regret it and all. I'm on my motherfuckin' fourth marriage and I'm already tired of the broad. She always tellin' me some shit about travelin' too much or the other. I swear, the institution of marriage is just like the government: all it does is tax and make you pay for shit. But hey, a woman is just like the government: you hate the damn thing but you can't live without it. You know what I mean?"

He could relate to some degree.

"International waters are run by guys like me. You won't have to worry about no goddamn police or UN or what-the-fuck-ever makin' you do shit when we're on board. We'll take care of you."

He nodded, not so much that he was affirming, only so that he knew he was listening.

"You serve military, son?"

"Yeah."

"Marines?"

"Four years."

"Fuckin' knew it. I know a soldier when I see one. Thank ya for servin' in our armed forces. Means the hell of a lot."

"Yeah…"

The old man rose to his feet, letting out a groan before standing completely straight.

"This damn knee of mine is gonna be the death of me. I'm gonna be the first motherfucker ever to die of knee pains, no adverse side effects or any of that shit. Yup. My ex-wives gonna come to my funeral and the tombstone gonna say: 'this sorry excuse of a bastard died from knee pains. And he tried to be a good man.' I'll still have knee pains while roastin' in Hell. Wouldn't that be a bitch."

Siam just continued to stare out into the sea.

"You think about what I told ya, alright? The freight raises anchor in an hour. Don't sit on that bench fo'ever. Stay still for too long and you'll get a leg worse than mine..."

The man flicked his cigarette into the frozen waters along the pier and walked back the way he came, a slight limp in in his left step.

The sea stretched far beyond the horizon. In the grey morning, he couldn't tell the difference between it and the sky. Again, they were both one and the same. He couldn't escape. But maybe if he crossed it, he could at least get away.

* * *

The river flowed gently. Sitting on the stair step, his memories disappeared as quickly as they came. His mind was fluttered in evanescence, barely able to remember anything else. He had been trying to forget. He scolded himself for still not being able to get away.

He heard the sound of the bike come down the path. Alphard stopped, waited for Canaan to hop off, and then removed the key from the ignition, subsequently wheeling it against one of the wooden support beams for the next time they would need it.

"How'd it go?" he asked quietly.

"Well enough, I suppose" Alphard summarized while thinking back on the long day.

"Did you learn a few things?" he asked Canaan.

"Yeah. I guess."

Alphard hopped up the stairs and gave Siam a bundle of money. He took it, fluttered through it, and smiled.

"Nice job."

"Don't take any more missions from that guy."

"Suspicious?"

"Just take my word for it."

"I won't ask again." He took the load of cash and put it in his back pocket.

"God, do I need a shower."

She scaled the horizontal steps and entered the door, making sure not to close it behind her for Siam and the girl.

"You feeling tired?"

"A little" she responded, not admitting just how fatigue she really was.

"Go and get some sleep." He stood and headed toward the door.

The cabin felt a bit more welcoming now that someone else was inside of it. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a drink of water, and returned to the living room. He noticed that she hadn't entered and grew curious.

"Canaan?"

He walked back outside and saw no sight of her. A mellow smile crept over his face. If he was right, she wasn't done for the day.

* * *

There was a large knob on the side of the range. When she turned it, the humongous lights on top of the building, facing north and west, flickered, then illuminated bright, white lights. She went and set up the targets the same way Siam had done earlier that day so that she could practice some more.

She started off running from the entrance, shot two bullets at the target to her left, hitting the head and the red dot in the center. She held her gun with her less dominant hand and shot at the targets to her right as a means of testing her running accuracy. One bullet missed, the other hit the chest.

She cartwheeled, flipped, and shot at another target while airborne and hanging upside. The vertigo was thrilling; she loved the feeling. Both bullets hit the chest. She pressed the mag release, took out another mag, inserted it, and pulled the slide. The efficiency was uncanny. The use of her acrobatics, if applied pragmatically, allowed her not to become vulnerable even for a second. When she landed on her feet, she bent at the knee to better absorb the impact and shot at the opposite target. Both bullets hit the head.

She ran, shot at the target on her right, and then the one on her left. Her accuracy was improving. With a dive, she finished the course, putting two bullets in the chest of one target, while missing the last two. Springing off a handstand, she contorted her body through the air, planted her boots flat against the ground with her arms spread out a few centimeters from her sides, and stood up straight. Smoke from her Beretta drifted into the air around her. The shells of fired bullets were left in the wake of her run, still warm while they propagated and settled in the granulated dirt. Unfortunately, she couldn't properly gauge her performance without the canister being fired into the air. She imagined it launching, emulating the whistling sound while lifting her hand, aimed, and pretended to shoot into the air. She rested her firearm by her side, holding the grip gently as she stared out into the distance.

"That was better."

Startled, she turned and saw Siam standing on the ledge with his arms crossed.

"You could add some weight while pivoting your toes for more effective movements. That will help in terms of maneuvering through fire or moving from cover to cover."

She was uplifted. It was a pleasant surprise. A confident smile going across her face, she responded:

"Anything else?"

"There's some other things. You don't have to worry about them for now."

"Do you want me to run it again?"

"Last time."

She jogged back toward the start. He took a seat at the ledge and looked out at the illuminated expanse. It reminded him of so long ago. Perpetual silence. Glowing white. The same serene feeling. Instead of reminiscing this time, he leaned forward and watched Canaan run the course, wanting to make sure that the efficient aspect of her performance was taken cared of. It was a good way to keep his mind occupied.

Maybe she could help him get away.


	8. Chapter 7 - Love

_Author's Note – _Hi, guys! I'm sorry if it took a while to update. It takes some time to write _this _much and then edit it. If you're still reading, you deserve several cookies. Thank you. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Have fun reading!

* * *

Chapter 7 – Love

"Again" Siam ordered.

She listened.

"Again."

She complied.

"You need to put more leverage into it. Don't shift your upper body. Raise and swing; let the center of your leg take the brunt of the impact. Again."

Frustrated, she obeyed.

"More. That's not enough. Be relentless! Come on, swing!"

Angry, she executed.

"That's better! Keep it going! Don't falter; in a fight, find your opponent's tendencies and exploit them. Don't put yourself in a position of vulnerability with a misplaced or weak attack! Come on! Keep it up!"

Alphard sat on the table she had dragged outside the range and observed. The building's extended roof provided her shade from the sun. Her Five-Seven next to her crossed legs, she drunk from a water bottle and was rejuvenated. That was her second. They had four left.

She felt tired just watching the two of them. Albeit thirsty, although somewhat callously, she drunk and revitalized, knowing that her need for water was certainly not as prevalent as theirs.

She kept hearing the sound of flesh and sinew impacting padded cushion, time and again. She could see as the girl laboriously swung her leg against the blue pad Siam was holding in his right hand. Dirt kicked up from behind her boots each time she dragged her feet along the ground. Every attack was preceded by a grunt and followed by a pant. Sweat flew off the strands of her silky white hair and fell onto the hot ground, having already dowsed her face, neck, and arms. It was obviously taxing on her since her face grimaced in succession with her attacks, though the impression she gave off, with her resolute expression and increasingly effective swings, was one of determination.

The yelling was annoying. Encouragement and feedback from his raised voice, borderline bass from baritone, permeated the heat-flourishing air and made for a scene that sounded a lot more dramatic than it appeared. Watching her practice was nostalgic; it wasn't too long ago that she'd been in the same position.

"Don't get tired! Keep it going! You can do better!"

Those words didn't mean anything to her. Improvement, to her, was innate, not achievable. She didn't have to think about "bettering" her performance. She just did.

She hated those words.

Eventually, the girl's left leg could take no more. After budging him a few centimeters sideways and returning her foot to the ground for the next swing, her leg gave out, she fell on her right knee, and collapsed onto her back against the rough ground, breathing heavily. Her left leg convulsed randomly, as if lamenting the stress being put upon it. The sky was so bright. She couldn't look into it without having one of her eyelids shut and the other squinted, barely blinking.

Siam removed his grip from the pad, walked in Alphard's direction, and went for one of the water bottles laying against the table. His face, already sweating and dirtied, changed from its usual distant demeanor to a befuddled expression when he saw their water supply.

"We only have four bottles left?" he demanded out of irritation, dismissing the fact the answer was right in front of him.

"It's hot."

"You're in the shade and you're not doing anything."

"Your point?"

He chuckled, appalled, and shook his head. He knew that she was responding to his address of a lack of consideration with a challenge that had no merit. He couldn't tell if she was doing it to frustrate him or because she needed to quench a thirst that didn't exist.

"Maybe you ought to get out there and go through what she is and you'd understand."

"I've been through it before" she reminded him after depleting the rest of her second bottle.

"Seems like you've forgotten."

"No. I'd just rather not remember. No one wants to recall bad memories."

"Is that right?..." he muttered solemnly.

"Training sucks. And it's annoying."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know… maybe because it's only a prospect and not a guarantee. You might put in all this work, but then it might not mean anything. She might get her ass kicked again and I may not be the one doing it."

"Then what about you? Did it manifest the way you wanted it to?"

She shrugged. "I'm not dead… I feel like we've had this conversation before."

"Then you don't have the place to complain about your foundations. Those building blocks are a part of what's keeping you alive."

"I don't think that's it."

"Then what is it?"

"I just think I haven't found the bastard lucky enough to kill me. _Yet._"

"Then your combat ability is reflective of luck and not skill?"

"Don't patronize me. I've eliminated all of the threats I've encountered or that were assigned to me. You'd be insulting me if you said it wasn't true."

"So your skill comes down to your record sheet?" he asked as he wiped away droplets of water along his lips.

"No. That just shows expertise."

"So, you think you're good at what you do?" he inquired, though he was well aware of the answer.

"I'm not going to say no. Maybe that's it: I haven't found anyone _good_ _enough_ to kill me."

He looked at her like she was an intricacy he couldn't solve. She always intrigued him. The way she was able to take what she learned and make it her own was exceptional. It was something he couldn't quite describe, though he had a feeling of where it came from.

"I realize that what we do makes us confront our mortality more often than we'd like. It's only part of being a soldier. But you always speak like your life is expendable, like you could die at any moment. That's not something you should think about too much."

"Why not?" she challenged, "You're the one who just said that we're always confronted by human mortality in our field of work."

"You're looking for meaning in a place where death is the rule and not the exception. It's not supposed to be fulfilling."

She put her gun on the table, leaving the slide pulled back while she checked the bullets in the cartridge. She was missing five from the magazine. The tendency to check ammunition was learned. She never didn't know her firing power at any given moment. Pulling the trigger and hearing an empty _click_ wasn't feasible for her. Siam quietly watched her go through the meticulous process. He looked out at Canaan, who had finally sat up underneath the broiling sun. Dust lifted with each bout of wind and drifted throughout the dull, patchy-grassed terrain.

He turned his head and looked at her before asking:

"What are you searching for?"

She shrugged. "Maybe somebody will kill me before I find out."

He smiled. "I don't think so."

Leaning against the table, he watched as Canaan finally stood, somehow having recovered in the blazing expanse, and dust herself off. He took another swig of the bottle, leaving some at the bottom, before wiping his mouth clean with his wrist and forehand.

"Alright. You're helping me out with the next exercise. We'll wrap up and head back to the cabin afterward."

She took her firearm, inserted the cartridge, and pulled back on the slide, subsequently putting it at her waist.

"Whatever you say."

* * *

The path was set before her.

Six targets were placed eight meters from one another in columns with a four meter separation. Siam intentionally placed four on one side and two on the other side to demonstrate pressure-distinguished flanks. In the center of the setup stood Siam. Alpha was standing at the end, her head veiled by her scarf, with arms crossed and foot tapping.

He told her she'd have to get "through" them.

Her leg was still stiff, but she would just have to walk it off, or in this case, run it off. The sun glared down from above, illuminating a strip of the expanse while cloud cover filtered beams of light throughout the vast area. Siam covered his eyes with the cuff of his hand and waited for a formation of clouds to block the sun. His firearm aimed skyward in his other hand, when a bout of shade cloaked the area, he pulled the trigger.

She started off in a controlled dash, aiming her gun at the target on her right. She shot two bullets, both of them hitting the center of the chest. He put obstacles he found from the range in her path, most of which were tables, desks, and boxes, not so that she would avoid them, but so that she'd use them to her advantage. He had Alphard time her, but that was only to deter her. The course was a matter of discretion, not of speed. He wanted to see if she was sound of mind, even if it was just a simulation.

She jumped a box and aimed at another target, shooting twice. One bullet hit the head, the other hit the inside periphery of the large circle plastered on the chest.

She felt the sweat evaporate as she ran through the course. Her pores were prickly, goose bumped even, as the sweat dried and cooled her body. The wind blew through her clothes. With every step, she felt the breeze cooling her. She tried not to move wildly. Rather, she would pinpoint an approaching obstacle and use it as a waypoint for the next few hurried paces. Unlike the last few occasions, where she would shoot and sprint sporadically until the end of the course, she moved precisely, tracing straight shots from table to box to desk.

She hugged a table standing vertically with the legs sticking out in her direction. The target to her left was just diagonal from her position, about two meters away. She peeked, aimed, and fired two shots, one of which hit what would be the lower body, in essence missing, another which hit above the abdomen. She jumped right, spotted a target, and fired twice. One hit the head, the other hit the chest.

Then, she came upon Siam.

"Come on!"

She tucked her gun behind her waist and showed her set. Both hands raised in front of her face, her dominant hand closer to eyes. He didn't have the cushion this time. He wanted her to treat him like a threat.

So she did.

She came in with a fierce right, which he dodged with a swivel of his head. She wasn't stopping there. She lifted off her left foot, swung her right foot, and rotated through the air. Had he not ducked, he would have easily sustained a concussion. He liked it. Regardless of camaraderie, she was able to separate the objective from her emotions. He knew that she didn't want to hurt him, but she still attacked fervently.

When she was about to land with her back toward him, he plastered his hand against the ground and swung his left leg in a sweeping motion. She didn't have enough time to react. His boot met with her leg. To his surprise, she improvised by leaning her body forward before she could be tripped. He only provided a boost to her forward momentum, allowing her to place her hand against the rough ground in a handstand. She took the opportunity to remove her gun from her waist and shoot at the target a few meters ahead, hitting the chest twice, all while upside down. She then leaned her lower body backward so that she could return to her feet and face him anew. She put her gun away before he could stand and resume his stance.

She went in this time with another kick, which he blocked with the side of his elbow, and followed with a swing to his right side, which he parried. She took advantage of the lapse and applied another kick with the same leg, this time at a higher angle. He blocked her rugged boot with his upper arm, and leaned into her body with his shoulder. She braced the impact, staggered angrily, but followed with a punch going for the center of his abdomen. He swatted the attack with a swipe of his large hand and swung at her with his leg. She had to contort her upper body backward to avoid the otherwise devastating counter, placed her hands against the ground, and flipped backward to create some distance between them.

She knew there was no way she'd be able to beat him. She was panting, sweat dripped down her face, and her body shimmered with stress. He was collected, cerebral, and never took his eyes off her. She would have to try something different.

She came in for another attack, this time a left-handed lunge. He moved his head laterally, evading. She followed this time with a kick to the side of his right knee. Not expecting the attack, he bent awkwardly to the right, his knee jerking sideways to accommodate the sudden change in equilibrium. She followed with a pendulum-style kick, swinging her left foot forward before bringing it back viciously behind his right knee. He stumbled forward and was forced to one knee from the brute impact. Vulnerable, she took the chance and ran passed him, waving goodbye cheerfully.

"There she goes…"

That took a chunk out of her time. She emptied her magazine and reloaded, catering to the tugging feeling in the back of her mind always telling her to keep her weapon loaded. The last target was on her left.

Alphard removed the scarf from her head lazily and wrapped it around her neck. She didn't feel like doing close-quarters, but if the girl wanted to "pass her," whatever that meant, then she didn't mind playing along.

Canaan gauged the distance between her and Alpha, cartwheeled, shot at the target with her body rotating along the ground, putting two bullets into its head, returned to her feet before turning her body, flipping once, and a second time. The airborne approach provided a seamless lien from having taken out the target to engaging Alpha, who she knew would be much more difficult to handle than Siam, who was simply testing her.

Alpha always teased her. Consequently, fighting was only a means to see whether or not she could be entertained by her.

She purposefully tossed her Beretta during her downward ascent. She came in off a rotation and swung her leg through the air when she caught sight of Alpha below her. Alphard met the kick with one of her own, blocking her foot in the air and stopping her airborne streak in its flight.

The contact of their feet was brutal. There was certainly going to be a large bruise along both their legs when they were done.

Canaan descended to the ground, landing on one leg, before using the leg still in the air to turn rotate her body, using her standing foot as a pivot, and threatening Alpha with an attack more menacing than the first. She blocked the attack with the side of her elbow, wrapped her arm around her thigh, and was about to kick at her other leg. Canaan had already responded by sliding her remaining foot backward.

Alpha's swipe missed and Canaan countered by sending a straight left toward the center of her face. Alpha stopped the attacked with the center of her hand, effectively stalling it. Canaan had one more hand left. Alpha was tentatively occupied.

Canaan sent her remaining fist just below where she was blocking the other. Alpha let go of her leg, forcing Canaan into a full split, and flipped backward to avoid what would have been a debilitating attack.

_Damnit!_

The girl had a tendency to be spontaneous and catch her off guard. It was indignant to know that some girl, with barely any experience, could force her into vulnerability so often.

It was annoying, but nevertheless, interesting.

Canaan stood to her feet elegantly. She dusted her khakis off, fanned herself by tugging her shirt, and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She was obviously more at ease with fighting Alpha and she showed it. When she saw Alpha resume her stance with brows furrowed and a semi-irritated comport, she did the same, only neutral, but a little more confident than she was last time.

Siam stood behind them, watching quietly.

Canaan knew that Alpha wouldn't engage her first. She had done it before, but that was only because she was gauging her ability. It would bring her combat dignity into question if she were to initiate the attack first.

Canaan accommodated her lack of initiative and went in for a straightforward right. She'd rather not, but Alpha wouldn't move, despite her being more assertive, unless the girl did so first. Though Canaan was the more defensive type, she had to attack first, otherwise Alpha would have too much time to probe her movements or would entice her mockingly.

Alpha changed the trajectory of her attack by hitting her fist from below with a swiping motion, and stepped in for a brutal blast to her stomach. Canaan brewed, bellowed, and belched, eventually falling to the ground while wrapping her arms around her stomach, writhing.

Alphard could see as the girl released saliva from her mouth to the ground, most of it falling out with eager viscosity, some of it ejected by hoarse coughing. She noticed that the white excrements were intertwined with red streaks and quivers, trickling throughout their contents.

She rose to her feet, wiped her mouth with her forearm, and resumed her stance. Conviction was an understatement.

Alphard was amused. The girl came in with another forward attack, obviously not as feverous after having her breath sucked from her lungs, which she worked around with ease. She kicked at her leg, reducing her to one knee, kicked the other side of her body brutally, not wanting to surge an old bruise back to life, grabbed her arm while making her way behind her, and kicked her back mercilessly, still holding the arm. Alphard stood on one leg, with the other pressed against her back, her hand pulling the girl's arm. In addition to the excruciation, her vitality was drained by loud screams as she felt her arm being ripped from her body. The force was excessive. A few seconds more and she'd be shredding fiber and tearing ligament.

"Alphard!" Siam yelled angrily, "What the hell are you doing!?"

She sucked on her teeth. Releasing her grip from the girl's arm, she fell forward and panted heavily, her arm hanging in the air at an awkward angle while the other braced the ground. Alphard lowered her foot and kicked at the dirt on the ground. She didn't care too much about how the girl was feeling. She pulled out the timer and pressed the stop button at the corner.

03:42:27

She sure did know how to end up defeated in short time.

The girl raised her knee after basking in the inglorious dirt for a few moments and stood on her feet. When she turned around, Alphard was intrigued.

"Not done yet?" Alphard snickered.

She didn't respond. The color in her eyes were more than enough to answer her question.

* * *

The pain was surging throughout her body, but her composure was still intact. Her face was emotionless, though she carried disdain for the pain Alpha made her suffer through. Her arm was straining, almost limp, and borderline numb.

The color was there again… that damn light blue.

Everything was filtered. Impertinent stimuli were replaced by streaming streaks of shifting shadows, all of which fluttered throughout her periphery. Her senses had a very low threshold and were triggered by even the slightest sensation. She could instantly process what mattered and what didn't, an advantage that was only a necessity when dealing with Alpha. She didn't understand how it worked, but she felt that she could taste and touch sounds and hear aromas.

Most importantly, she could see emotions.

Alphard was obviously enticed by what she was seeing. Confident, she resumed her stance and chuckled mockingly. She wanted to see if those eyes could make her more of a soldier.

Canaan breathed out slowly, closing her eyes. Before she opened them, she was already on the prowl, having taken several quick steps and closing in on Alpha's vicinity.

Alphard braced for a punch coming in straight to her face but had no indication that the girl was going to move so fast. She tried to swipe the menacing fist but hadn't realized in time that the lunge wasn't her principal attack. She was already swerving above the ground with her other hand, coming in for a kick with her right leg. Trying to compensate for her augmented movements, Alphard raised her left leg to knee level so her thigh could absorb the brunt of the impact and not the side of her body.

She wouldn't be able to stop the punch by any means. Au lieu of attempting a block or dodging, she was forced to parry, swiping at her arm to redirect the trajectory and send it just past the side of her face. The displaced breeze lifted the strands at the side of her head, a peculiar sensation alluding to the potential damage the attack could have caused had it made contact.

Alphard responded frustratingly by mangling her foot behind the girl's forward foot in an attempt to trip her up. She reacted too quickly. Leveraging her change in balance by placing her back foot at a pivot and shifting her upper body, she didn't lose stride. What's more, Alphard could see as the girl raised her other arm for a punch that was going to rock her face like a cradle.

Alphard thrust her foot still behind the girl's leg laterally and was able to dodge the second punch as a result of a forced misstep. She was very suddenly on the defensive. She ducked another punch that would have rattled her, leaned her shoulder into a kick that would have wrecked her, and braced a punch that would have rammed into her abdomen. An exchange ensued with her having to constantly avoid, prevent, or elude devastating attacks. The girl's hair bounced through the air, her sweat flung onto Alphard's body with every other attack, and her flurries appeared to have no end in sight. The sun had escaped the cloud's cover and shone down on them, embellishing the already emblazoned brawl.

While backpedaling, she looked into the girl's eyes and saw them brimming. The thrill she got from glancing at the color that propagated throughout the vermillion and crimson swirls was unlike anything she had experienced.

It was as if she was looking straight into the manifestation of awakened potential.

She loved it.

Sneering while breaking stride, she sent an attack of her own in the form of a kick heading for the side of the girl's body. She copied her own technique and raised her knee, letting her thigh absorb most of the impact. She dropped the knee quickly and shifted her other foot, returning the swing with one of her own. She didn't have enough time to react.

Paramount to having a brick being thrown violently at her ribs, Alphard felt as the girl's boot made impact with the side of her body. Twice.

The sharp pain propagated throughout her upper body in an instant. Her face grimaced only to scowl as the girl's fist made contact with her cheek.

Alphard was thrown to the ground. She was sent about a meter from where Canaan had smashed her face. The dirt kicked up around her as her disheveled body remained wrangled in the dirt.

It had been a while since Alphard was subjugated. She felt what the girl had been feeling. The rough texture, the unfeeling surface.

The dirt.

Siam watched from afar, taken aback. His intent was for them to _spar, _but they always ended up _fighting._ He was impartial and only watched their performance. He in no way, however, had expected the battle to wind up the way it did. He felt that he should end it there, but saw as Alphard trudged along the ground, positioning herself to stand. He couldn't really tell if the two despised each other, considering the animosity with which they engaged one another, or if going all out was their way of testing each other. He could see that Canaan's eyes weren't the same. Perhaps that had something to do with the tide of their battle going in her favor. For the moment, he relegated himself to a distant referee, ready to interfere before their fighting got out of hand.

Alphard stood to one knee and raised her foot, facing the girl again. The side of her face throbbed. When she wiped it with her forearm, smears of red ran along her tan skin. Her clothes were dirtied, her blue scarf had been stained, and the strands of her dark hair was filled with gravel. She was openly pissed and didn't try to hide it. It was apparent that she took it personally.

Canaan watched as her hue changed. The light blue aura surrounding her streamed, surged, and exploded almost suddenly into a darker blue which illuminated her body. The color was the same one as the sun. It was much harder for her to process than to see. It was her least favorite color.

Hostile. Antagonizing. Threatening. Enthralling.

Alpha moved forward slowly, her hands in front of her face. The vibe Canaan felt from her color was all over her face.

Each movement was calculated. Canaan perceived that she had changed her strategy to account for the way she was fighting. She was no longer on the defensive.

Alphard came in with an uppercut this time. Canaan moved her head back just enough to avoid her chin being clipped by the unexpected attack. She countered by taking a step forward and sending a swift right to her face, only to have her elude the lunge with a sidestep, take her extended arm by the wrist, and drag her close to her body. Before she made contact, Canaan's chest was met with Alphard's forearm, to which she felt a blistering jolt, her arm was lifted, turned, and swung behind her back, as if she were being handcuffed, the back of both her knees were kicked brutally, sweeping her off her feet, and a hand was placed behind her head while a foot was blasted into her back like a doormat. She screamed in agony, but the sounds only came out as muffled whimpers only she and Alphard could hear. Her head was being pushed into the ground until her cheek was rubbing against dirt. It might as well have been a suplex, though this one was a display of dominance more than anything else.

"Alphard!" Siam yelled while making his way over to where they were. It became obvious that she wasn't going to stop until he forced her to.

She looked up and saw Siam coming toward her but still continued applying more pressure against the girl's back. Canaan closed her eyes and endured her suffering, unable to do anything about her predicament.

"Alphard! Stop it! Now!"

She finally let go of her when he was about a meter away. Canaan rolled over from her knees and lay against the ground on her side, panting, panting, panting, feebly. When he bent down to examine her condition, he looked at her face and saw that she had the same expression the day he found her. Weak, tired, drained.

He looked up at Alphard with a rage-filled, chastising regard that relayed a thousand words and more, but only ordered:

"Take a walk."

Alphard complied apathetically, put her hands in her pants pockets, and walked toward the range. She knew that he was going to take care of her after he attended to the girl.

She swatted her pants, shook her shirt, and took the pin out her hair, letting her dark hair fall down. She gathered whatever excrement was still sitting in her mouth and spit them out. The sun was shining so brightly but the blood in her saliva was red enough to still be noticeable, even with the glare on the ground. She grabbed the side of her body the girl had kicked, rubbing it in circular motions to alleviate the pain. She couldn't help but flex that side of her body, exasperating the bruise which had already surfaced. Her back wasn't straight while she walked to the table where the water was – she leaned wearily on one side involuntarily, but necessarily.

However much it hurt, she couldn't say that she didn't enjoy fighting her. There was something mysterious about her. Their exchanges were enchanting and mysterious as much as the girl's eyes were. The pain, then, was nothing she couldn't handle for having experienced a feeling she rarely felt.

Maybe she needed to relax a little. The injuries the girl had sustained would likely put her out for the rest of the day and probably the next. She continued walking past the range after taking a water bottle from the table. Undoing the cap, she poured water on her hair and rinsed her face off as best she could, reserving the rest of it so she could drink.

The girl was tougher than she looked. If she could survive in that ghost town for however long she did with no nourishment or anybody to help her, she could take a few hits, though Siam showed concern for her well-being more than she thought he would. The girl took precedence, she concluded, since she was still recovering from whatever the hell happened in that town.

That was something else they had in common. It seemed they both were adept to dealing with pain.

The ragged mountains in the distance reflected the brilliance of the sun's rays as she walked through the expanse. The bittersweet pain throbbed her body as she reflected upon her experience. She realized then that nothing seemed to work out well for her – not without hurting a little bit.

* * *

_Two years ago…_

Sometimes she wished the sun would just drop dead.

The temperature was sulfuric. If the dusty buildings around her couldn't withstand the absurd amounts of heat, they'd likely be smoldering heaps of dust, debris, and dirt.

For some reason she couldn't quite understand whatsoever, she had a veil over her head, just like all the other women in the streets. It reached down to the center of her torso and had a dark tint with stripes of white going through its fabric. She tied it loosely to let her head be aerated by the lukewarm breeze. She wore a black t-shirt and grey pants, along with slippers that were much too worn out to be functional, let alone aesthetically pleasing. They all were trying to have as little presence as possible. Conspicuity, she had been taught, was the enemy. She didn't like it because often, like then, it wasn't functional. Nonetheless, she took it as norm and just went with what every other lady did. It wasn't like she could do anything about it.

The streets of the town were compact, even more so because of the clutter which sat along the streets. Many of the buildings were connected to one another by walkways that ran along the roofs. Smoke came out of the roof ventilators, all of which rattled worryingly, obviously needing to be repaired or replaced. As she walked past alleyways, she looked into the even narrower passages and saw the strings going from one building to another holding up drying and dried clothes. One lady was sticking out the window of her apartment and pulling on one of the strings to collect her clothes, many of which were veils.

Kids roamed the streets and played carelessly. They were always so energetic, running from corner to corner and hiding from one another in crevices and in the innumerable alleys. The boys didn't have to worry about the heat pounding on their heads more than it already was since their hair was the only thing covering their heads. If the girls were young enough, they didn't have to wear one, either. They all seemed to be quite happy with their friends, enjoying their blissful youth while it lasted.

Alphard had a brown, paper bag in her hands which carried a beautifully designed box. She didn't know what was in it, but it looked like the hell of a gift. She had been told to get it by her mother for her special someone. She did what she was told.

There were still remnants of the depravity along her path while she walked home. She just came back from the "bad" side of town. Unfortunately, she had to go through there in order to get to the gift shop. It wasn't like her place was any better. Comparatively speaking, however, the block of buildings where her apartment was wasn't as _bad_ as where she came from. For starters, there weren't as many remains of burnt out cars, there were less craters, not as much debris from destroyed buildings, less glass from broken windows on the streets and sidewalks, and less holes in the walls.

There wasn't very much redundancy in the town. One of everything, none of everything else. If there was a shop or merchant's service, more often than not, it was the only one.

She had to rest. The temperature had drained her of her energy. She stood against the wall of a building and recovered for a little while. The sweat dripped along her arms and ran down her face. It felt like the perspiration wasn't really helping her to cool down, but only made her body temperature rise. Regardless, it was nice to just stay still for a while and not suffer through the heat.

She heard some kids near her talking innocently about whatever came to mind. The implications of many of the conversations eluded them, but they were mystified by the subject matter and, thus, couldn't help but be mesmerized:

"Did you see it? Did you see it?" said one of the boys to another.

"No, I don't wake up at five o'clock in the morning like you do."

"Shutup! I only woke up because I thought I heard something else."

"What are you talking about, anyway?" said the only girl among the crowd of boys.

"The bird!"

"What bird?" said another one of the boys while crossing his arms.

"The really big one!"

"Was it an eagle?"

"No! Eagles wouldn't fly through the desert, silly."

"Not gonna lie, but you look like a bird" said the clever boy of the bunch. The rest of the kids laughed.

"Shutup!"

"What kinda bird?" asked the boy with the dirty hands to the clever boy.

"Hmmm… a flamingo!" he stood on one leg, put the other foot against the leg, and waved his hand in the air flamboyantly. The other kids laughed hysterically. The girl brought back their composure with a question, apparently interested in what the boy had seen. She had short hair that probably would grow long as she aged, wore a t-shirt that revealed her tanned tummy whenever there was a burst of wind, and shorts that reached down to her knees. She was only interested because she liked to learn about stuff she didn't know about.

"How big were the wings?" she asked enthusiastically.

"Hmm… pretty big, but it didn't use them."

"What? You should know that penguins don't fly" retorted the clever boy, inciting the chuckles of the other boys around him.

"That's not what I meant! It didn't flap its wings like a normal bird is what I wanted to say. It flew around in circles and then flew away really fast."

"What color was it?"

"I couldn't really see because it was still kinda early, but I thought it was white."

"My cousin doesn't like birds" said one of the boy who hadn't spoken yet.

"Why's that?"

"He says that sometimes they shoot flames from their bellies and stuff."

"Like a phoenix? Come on! That's just a myth from that place where people like chariots and wear armor all day and stuff like that."

"Well, how do you explain the smoke, fire, and those craters?" said the little girl while scratching her head.

"People around here are always doing stuff like that."

"I've never seen that kind of a bird before" said the little girl, awestruck.

"Don't worry about him," advised the clever boy to the girl, "He's probably sleepwalking or something."

"Well, you still can't beat me in football!" challenged the eyewitness boy to the clever one, effectively changing the subject.

"That's because we haven't played with a real ball in weeks. If we had a damn ball with actual air in it, I betcha I'd win."

"Oh yeah? My brother has one at home. I'll go and get it and we'll settle this here!"

"Sounds good to me. I don't have anything else to do."

The rest of the kids oohed amusingly. They didn't have much else to do, so the prospect of watching them duke it out in their favorite sport was definitely enticing. She watched as the boy left the pack and come running in her direction.

He was the lucky one.

Alphard heard the sound of a whistle, augmenting to the rumble of a truck's throttle, and eventually to the bellowing of a fighter jet's engine. When she looked in the air, she saw what looked like a spear being thrown from the heavens and making its way down, shifting clouds aside and leaving white smoke along its rapid descent.

There was a flash and then there was nothing, everything around her suddenly vanishing. An echo boomed, the scene she was looking at a few seconds before was engulfed, and the sight of the cheerful kids on the corner was no more.

It might as well have rained fire. It would have been more merciful than a missile dropping from the sky.

Alphard's feet weren't on the ground anymore. She was lifted, jolted, and tossed backward. In her flight, she saw fire surging, smoke blasting brilliantly, and a blazing red luster envelop the air. Cement, brick, fragments, shrapnel, shards, frigid smoke, and cold fire were sent haphazardly in every which direction until whatever at the origin was eviscerated.

How haunting that whatever fleeting peace they had was lifted in fire and replaced by pandemonium, all of which came from what was a bright and blue sky.

The building at the corner was leveled. Whatever was living inside of it was now inanimate, whatever was nonexistent was brought to life in glorious flames.

* * *

Alphard opened her eyes. Her body was throbbing and she felt stiff as a rock. Naturally so – there were only rocks, bricks, cement, and chunks of other rough material serving as accents for her soft nest on the uninviting ground. She groaned wearily while slowly gathering herself. She lifted her upper body first, placed her hand on her forehead, and looked at it to see red running through the destiny lines. She didn't have to wipe the side of her face to know that the stream going down her cheek wasn't sweat.

She couldn't stop shaking. Maybe it was the ribbon-like cuts that ran along her hands or the deep slash that ran down her left forearm. Even though fire prospered in front of her and her body was painfully sensitive, she felt cold. That had to be why she couldn't stop _shivering._

The veil had been lifted from her head. She saw it blowing along the streets with flames burning away at its fabric.

Screams propagated throughout the area. Men screamed in agony. Women screamed in terror.

She stood to her feet and tried her best to ignore the headache banging her head. She stumbled forward, holding on to the wall of the intact building next to her. Vertigo hindered her movements, her equilibrium was off, and she could barely walk without hurting. Adamant, she went over to the corner where the kids had been, hoping with every fiber of her being they were alright.

Slabs of the destroyed building stretched over the sidewalk where the kids once stood. Scattered flames sat on top and around the remnants of the building. Blood was set on fire and evaporated by the inferno.

She stood in the middle of the street with her arms at her sides and her eyes bulged. The screaming wouldn't stop ringing through her ears. She felt like a ghost who had found her graveyard in the instant everything in front of her was lifted in flames.

She watched as locals ran past her and began digging through the debris. One of the men took her by the shoulders and guided her to a nearby sidewalk to examine her and see if she wasn't hurt.

"Are you alright?" he asked while looking into her eyes cautiously.

…

"Hey! Listen! Are you OK?!" he demanded fervently.

"I…I'm fine…"

"Are you dizzy? Can you see clearly?" he inquired, noticing the blood running down her face. His face was filled with concern. She didn't understand why he was so occupied with her. There was a lot of other people who needed more help than she did.

She lifted her hands and looked at the wounds going up and down her arms. Her hands were still shaking. She felt lost. She heard the question, but found it difficult to answer while her mind thought about the kids that were on the corner. She turned her head and saw as more men gathered to help the rest of them sort through the debris.

She wanted to tell them it didn't matter, that there was no chance. The words just wouldn't come out.

…

"I can take you to a doctor. Please, talk to me!"

"No… I'll be OK. I'm alright…"

She removed his arms from her shoulder, walked emptily back to where she dropped her bag, rummaged through some debris to find it, picked it up, and hurried back home. At that juncture, she didn't see a reason to stay outside any longer than she already had. She walked past the boy that had went back home and saw him cradling a ball in his arms and looking toward the carnage, horrified. He wasn't going to be playing football anytime soon.

* * *

"Is that you?! You're home! My daughter's home!"

She was met at the door with a tight hug. She dropped the bag while her mother's arms wrapped around her body. She wanted to reciprocate the embrace but couldn't. It was hard for her to respond to affection when she had seen so much of the opposite.

"Are you OK?!"

"Not really…"

She took her head off her shoulder and looked into her eyes. Her eyes were deeply brown. The see-through veil went down her arms and past her shoulders. She wore a long robe-like dress that reached all the way down to her feet. She was much more conservative than Alphard was. The veil was to her detriment: she had an exotic beauty about her that was only concealed by the cloak. To that end, maybe the cloak served its purpose.

She rearranged Alphard's messy hair, looked at her fingers, and saw red splotches on her thumb and index fingers.

"Oh no! Go take a seat at the table! I'll be right back!" She got up and ran to the room at the end of the corridor.

She walked tiredly to the table and took a seat. The living room, which didn't feel like much of one with the lack of furniture, was in the same space as the dining room area. An old television sat in the corner next to the small refrigerator and a camping stove. The small apartment didn't have the luxury of a kitchen. They were lucky to even have two bedrooms.

She hated the orange paint on the wall. Every time she looked at it, it made her feel more dizzy than she already was. At least the other half of the low ceiling space was painted white. That helped her maintain some sanity.

She couldn't keep her head up. She put her head down on the table, knowing that she was staining the tabletop with her blood, and cradled her head between her arms.

Her mother came back with a first-aid kit. She sat in the seat next to her, took her arm, and began dressing her wounds. She pulled out a bottle, an ominously white container with a white cap and hazard cautions in yellow text. Whatever the hell it was, she knew it was going to sting the crap out of her. Her mother went straight for the biggest wound she had sustained on her left arm. It was an open gash that tore deep through the epidermis and revealed much more than she wanted to see.

"Are you going to put that stuff on it?" she questioned with her brows lowered and face grimaced.

"You're going to be O.K. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mom."

She took a clean towel and soaked it with the material. Alphard's arm shuddered, already cringing at her mother's hand approaching with what surely was going to be more pain. She started shaking even more and her mother had to grip her arm tighter to keep her still.

"Mom…!" she squealed angrily.

"Hold still! I want to help you!"

She braced herself.

It felt like fiery needles were being stuck into her while she dabbed the towel over her wound. She tried her best not to but couldn't help it. She screamed loudly as the fluid fell into the wound, agonizing helplessly. The table shook while she budged, knocking over the flower vase, condiments, and other miscellaneous items her mom kept on the table. She gripped her fingers tightly to her palm to keep her mind off the electrifying ache that traveled throughout her arm. She kept her head down against the table so that her mother couldn't see the tears coming from her eyes. She was in so much pain for more reasons than she'd like to think about.

After draining the red from the towel, she returned to apply a cream which she told Alphard wouldn't sting as much. She wet the bandage in a layer of ethanol, wrapped it around her arm, and safeguarded the wound by wrapping another layer. She was dedicated to treating the rest of her cuts and scrapes on her hands and near the side of her head. There was a fair amount of yelling and squirming for the next hour, but she tried to take her mind off the pain by talking to her;

"What happened out there?" she asked while addressing a cut on the side of her hand.

"I don't think I want to talk about it." Her face was angered. Her mother could tell there was a lot of bitterness there.

"Are you just going to keep it inside?"

…

"What are you trying to do? If you don't talk about it, you're not doing yourself any go-"

"You weren't out there when the fire came down from the sky!" she rebelled furiously, "How am I supposed to feel when I see people die right in front of me?! That's not something I can just sleep through and get over!"

Her mother couldn't give a response to her , not because she didn't have one, but because she was solemnly surprised by the backlash.

"It's not fair! It's not fair…"

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, looking up from the wound she was attending to peer into her azure-blackened eyes.

"I…I…"

"Do you think you can become a hero and stop the fire from burning the people you care about?"

"No…"

"Then why are you fretting? There's nothing your anger, no matter how strong it may be, can do when the rodents around us are just prey for the birds in the sky."

She sniffled quietly while the tears came flowing from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. It mixed with the dried traces of blood on her face, restoring viscosity.

"Don't let whatever you're feeling consume you. There's a lot of decent people that have let that happen. Their good sense was replaced by zealous passion and they couldn't see clearly. You're better than that."

She was about to breakdown. Somehow, she managed not to completely fall into tears and wiped her face with the arm her mother wasn't working on.

"Come here…"

She grabbed her and pulled her in, giving her a tight hug. Alphard blinked her eyes tightly and tried to hold on to the anger while her mother tried to show her just the opposite. She wanted to do something about it. Although her emotions were strong, they, like her mother said, didn't serve any purpose.

"Why do other people get hurt?" she asked her mother, existentially curious.

"What are you trying to say?" She wanted clarity so she wouldn't give a bad answer. There weren't any good ones she could think of, but she knew how easy it was to give a mediocre one.

"Not all of us are bad people. Why do other people get caught in the carnage? How come all the good guys can't get on a boat, like that one guy did, and let all the other people get washed away?"

She couldn't think of anything. She decided to be honest.

"I can't give you the answer to your question, and I'm not sure that anyone else can. Sometimes, the things you want to happen don't happen the way you want them to. I just want you to know that you don't have to make it worse by harboring animosity toward what may very well be circumstantial. But maybe you can change yourself and that might make things a little different. Do you believe me?"

"No."

She smiled. "Just think about what I told you, alright? I can't be anymore happy that my baby came home safely…"

She sat her chin on her mother's shoulders and let the last tear fall from her eyes. She was still angry and couldn't let go.

There was a knock on the door.

"Someone's at the door."

"I'll get it. You just sit and get some rest." She stood slowly and walked to the door.

"Mom!" Alphard called out.

"Yes?"

"I got the gift you wanted. It might make Dad a little happier."

"I hope it does…thank you."

She nodded, subsequently wiping what moisture remained from her eyes.

The moment her mother unlocked the door, the door burst open, forcing her to block it with her hands before it smashed her into the wall. Alphard jumped out her seat suddenly and stood cautiously, wondering who it might be, though she already had a feeling.

It was her father.

He walked into the apartment with his narcissistic presence, proudly rolling his large shoulders on entry. He was a tall motherfucker Alphard couldn't stand the sight of. He had scruffy hair he didn't care enough to take care of, a tragic sense of style, always wearing some dress shirt with a few too many buttons in the worst shades, wrinkled jeans, and slacks that belonged on the other side of the world. His face had molded to the shape of his always semi-angry comport and was hard to look at. He had wrinkles along his forehead and near the sides of his mouth. Consistently volatile, whenever he had a bad day at wherever he went, it was obvious. That day was no different.

"What do you want?" Alphard demanded with authority. She didn't know why her mother would send her to the other side of town to get a gift for a bastard like that. He didn't deserve anything but a foot in his ass.

"Don't talk to your father like that!" her mother scolded. Alphard couldn't understand in her right mind why she had a tendency to protect him. It was either because she didn't want any trouble or that she was trying to calm him down by being as stoic as possible. Still, it was hard to watch her mother act so vulnerable in front of a guy that would only exploit it.

"How was your day at work?" her mother asked in an attempt to ease his spirit.

"How much you got?" he asked, as if it were routine.

"Get out! We don't have any money!" Alphard replied viciously.

He looked at her curiously. She had a lot of audacity. He noticed her injuries and eyed her questionably.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked callously.

"Don't worry! She just got caught in a little scuffle outside!" her mother deflected, "It's nothing at all!"

"You got caught in that explosion, didn't you? What did I tell you about staying outside!? You would have deserved it if you had gotten blown to little pieces!"

She looked at him with enough resentment for the both of them.

"Where's your veil?" he questioned ostensibly.

"I was tending to her wounds. She had to take it off."

He saw the traces of blood still on her face and didn't press any further. Apathetically, he turned away from Alphard and looked at his wife with an intimidating glare.

"Well?"

She turned and looked at Alphard, keeping a strong face all the while.

"Go in your room, OK? I'll treat the rest of your wounds later."

She would only make it harder on her mother if she didn't listen. She gave her father a dirty look before turning and walking to her bedroom. She kept a crack in the door so that she could listen to the conversation or feud or quarrel or whatever, but when she turned to sit on the skinny mattress, the door slammed shut. She couldn't make out anything through the several centimeters thick door and the walls, which were wooden on the interior and had a layer of sandstone behind.

She leaned her ear against the door and tried to make out as much of their words as possible:

"What!?" It was her mother's voice.

"I'm trying to make money for this family!" her father responded loudly.

"But you don't…something so stupid for money! What the hell…thinking?! What else…bet!?"

There was a pause.

"I need to offset…I can't just…a tab…big…paying…"

"That's not my problem!" her mother yelled rebelliously.

…

"I guarantee…you won't be…hours from now…"

"What did you do?" her mother asked, distraught.

There were a bunch of whispers she couldn't make out very well.

Then, her mother began to cry, and eventually, she started yelling and screaming. The sound of the table rattling was loud enough to go through the walls. Muffled banging, a crashing sound, and more of the same.

Screaming.

Alphard banged against the door. It didn't open.

"Hey!"

She shook at the doorknob. When she realized that it wasn't going to budge, she stepped back, grabbed a lamp from the table, and smashed the bottom against the doorknob until it broke loose, the spindles cracking, and the posts of the other side splitting. She burst through the door and saw her mother laying against the wall with her knees up, inconsolable. Her father was gone and the entrance of the door was left open, turning on its hinges with grinding creaks.

"Mom!"

She ran over to her mother and bent down next to her. She had lost a fair amount of blood, but the trail on the floor didn't belong to her.

"Mom? What happened?" She didn't know why she asked the question. She already knew the answer. She didn't hear her father's old car drive away, but he was gone.

The veil on her head came undone, the roots of her hair were exposed, and most of her head was uncovered. The strands at the crown of her head was a mélange of crimson and charcoal. She whimpered a few moments before responding:

"I'm O.K…" she muttered. "I'm alright…Don't worry, OK? I still have to take care of yo-"

"Forget it, Mom! I want to know! Did Dad do this to you?!"

"No…" she denied, "…he was just angry…and he should be…he…h-"

"But that doesn't mean that he has the right to beat you around! Why are you defending him?! Look at what he did to you!"

"No…it's not true...he…"

"Why can't you just leave him?!"

"…no!...I…I can't…"

"You're the one that's being treated like crap and you're vouching for _him_! Didn't you tell me to see clearly!? Why can't you see that what he's doing to you is _wrong_!?"

"…please…I know…I know…it's just…I…I…"

"He doesn't even lov-"

"I love him!"

She couldn't believe the words came out her mouth. It was preposterous. Given her circumstances, it made _no _sense. There couldn't be a rational explanation. She didn't understand.

She stood and looked at her mom sobbing on the floor. Her hands were still shaking but it didn't hurt.

Her hair covered her face. She fixed the strands blocking her sight, parting the hair behind her ear, and took a last look at her mother before walking out the door and leaving her.

Just like her father had done so many times before.

"Please…don't go…please…"

She didn't see a reason to stay. She headed down the short, narrow hallway and walked down the stairs, returning to the streets. Her mother moaned in solitude.

When she didn't feel like crying anymore, she wiped her face of her tears and looked up to see the gift Alphard had gotten for her still wrapped snugly in frizzy décor inside the paper bag. She only wanted to make him happy.

She really did love him.

* * *

The nighttime scene was much different than the day. All the kids had left. The merchants were done selling their wares. Everyone had gone wherever home was.

She didn't know why, but she wanted to go back.

The walk back was melancholic and lonely. She knew where it was since there were so many lights flashing from that vicinity, armed militia, ambulances, and the smell of fire. Streaming black fumes still drifted through the air. It was an odd feeling to watch the sirens beam and flutter, rotating constantly and lighting block after block of the insignificant townscape.

With her hands in her pockets, she found a secluded area behind a building overlooking the strike zone. They all just seemed to be standing around, not doing much of anything. Some of the guys were still picking through debris.

When she looked past them and across the sidewalk, opposite from where the building used to be, she saw the bags.

Some of them were large. Far too many were small. Some were being transported, others were still being added.

She was infuriated. By no means did her frustration help. All she could do was clench her fist and turn away, unable to face what she couldn't except as reality.

* * *

She couldn't go anywhere else. She had to go home.

She turned the corner leading to her apartment. Unusually enough, she noticed that the wall light at the bottom entrance which would be lit in the evening wasn't on. She saw her father's car sitting across the street. She could see the lights of their small efficiency from the sidewalk. He probably was home with her mother by now, doing whatever lovers do together.

She heard the sound of banging and loud screaming come from her apartment. The lights were flushed out.

Panicked, she thought she'd run up and see what was happening, but decided against it when she saw an intimidating man step out along with her father. She hid behind the corner wall and peeked, perplexed at the sight of her blowhard father looking like a pushover in front of the guy. He was scratching his messy black hair vehemently and couldn't stand still, even though the guy in front of him didn't' budge. His hand motions showed distress, irritation, and obvious fear. He was pleading.

Her mom emerged from the building. How courteous to be escorted by several gentlemen, only they carried her by the arms and legs, had duct tape over her mouth, and treated her like a ragdoll. They threw her into a black truck parked out front. The panting, yelling, and screaming was barely audible and was lent to deaf ears when they shut the door of the truck.

That was the last Alphard ever saw of her mother.

"Mom…!"

She started shaking again, this time out of fear. She clasped her right wrist with her left and leaned the top of her head against the wall. Breathe, breathe, breathe…

It didn't help.

She peeked again and listened to the conversation that was being had between the man, who appeared to be the conspirator, and her father;

"What are you going to do with her?" he demanded cowardly.

The man shrugged. "The thing about our investments is that they come and go. Once they're put through the system, _we_ don't even know what happens to them. Your guess is as good as mine."

He was a charming bastard. He smiled as much as possible. He had a lot of hair, which fell to his shoulders, a pressed, white dress shirt, a fitted jacket which he kept unbuttoned, and dress pants to match. His slacks were even darker than the rest of his clothes. His style obviously trumped that of her father's.

"Don't fuck with me!" His rage flared. His body language was threatening. "You don't just go around and play with other people's lives!"

The man was flattered. His men were watching her father cautiously. They were all armed.

"Listen, buddy, you're the one who made a bad deal. We're just following through."

"No! That's not what we a-"

"I really can't even remember the last time I got a royal flush. The thing about these foreign games is that there's barely any middle ground: you're either a _king, _a _queen_, or a _joke_. It's really, truly capitalistic in every way."

"What do you want from me!?"

"Woah, now, I should be the one asking the questions. If I may, I'd like to rephrase your question to better suit the situation: what would we _like_ from you? It's rhetorical, so I'll answer for you: _everything_. If you can't get us what you owe us, you better have an ace up your ass because these kind of commodities go remarkably fast."

He scratched his hair violently.

"Listen, I can have foreign currency worth half of wha-"

"Hey, now! I didn't say I was looking for bargains. It's either you have it or you don't."

He rubbed his eyes out just as violently as he scratched his hair. After a few silent moments, he shook his head.

"Alright, then. It's good to be honest sometimes. It really does take a lot off your chest."

The men got into the truck along with the charismatic man who led the group. Before the guy closed the passenger seat, he said a few more words, all very jubilantly:

"Oh. We'll be here to pick up the other part of our deal tomorrow. Think of this as a blessing: you're single again! Go roam! Multiply and prosper! Leave the world with all kinds of legacies! It really is a beautiful life!"

The engine started, the truck left the curb, and faded in the distance before taking a turn deeper into the town.

Alphard was dumbfounded. Her mouth was agape. Her hands finally stop shaking.

Her dad was doing no better. When the truck had gone, he released his wrath all over the sidewalk, slamming his hands into the pavement and punching the stony walls, kicking over trash and kicking up dirt, all while screaming, grunting, and wailing. She just stood behind the wall, lost. She didn't understand why he was so mad. Was it because he lost? Was it because of family? Maybe it was because of the same reason that her mother had defended his behavior for so many years.

Love.

After sitting against the wall and releasing his mania for some time, he stood, seemingly resolute, and went toward his car. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to break him. But mostly, she wanted to know _why_. None of it made sense to her, even though she saw all of it so clearly. She felt like she had missed something - or everything.

Her dad climbed in the car, sat in it for a while with his hand against his face, started the engine, and peeled out from the dusty pavement. She watched him leave, fading into the distance the same way the black truck had done.

She had so many questions to ask him. Be it her blessing or spite, she'd never get the chance to ask them.

The car exploded.

Fire lifted about a quarter kilometer from where she was standing. The car disintegrated and was obliterated. Pieces flew into the air, landing on the roofs and crashing onto the ground, lighting up the night with more glory than the stars did the night sky.

She walked lifelessly into the middle of the street and fell to her knees. The same questions ran through her mind. Was it because of lost? Was it because of family? She didn't know why. As she bent over and agonized in the dirty street, her hair covering her face and arms like a veil, or like the cloak of the night sky above, she wondered. It must have been clarity. That's why the remnants of the car were shining so bright. It had to have been a blessing. That's why the pieces fell from the sky and illuminated everything in front of her. It must have been something. There had to be a reason _why_.

It must have been a gift of love.

* * *

She was running from the morning. It was rising behind her. Finally, after suffering through the cold night, the unforgiving sun shone brightly throughout the townscape, only now she was running from it.

Several tall, rugged men were chasing after her. The footsteps droned through the still slumbering town, though some early birds had already risen. She didn't know who they were but, after seeing what happened the night before, they obviously had a deal to settle. The dead don't understand bottom-line business.

She was cornered into an alley with three sizable gentlemen ready to take her. She cowered in fear. She had no chance of getting away from an imminent fate. Maybe she'd see her mother wherever they took her.

Before the men could apprehend her, she heard the sound of glass breaking. Shards scattered, forcing her to cover her face with her arms. When she looked up, one of the men grabbed the back of his head, saw that his hand was filled with excessive amounts of blood, and peeled over, as if realizing that he shouldn't be standing anymore.

"What the hell happened?!" chattered one of the men.

Before one of the men could turn around, his face was met with a massive right that sent him twirling into a set of trash and debris flanking the alley walls. He slumped against the wall, his eyes shot, and slid down as comfortably as a person can fall against a sandstone wall.

She saw the tall and rugged man, a guy with short brown hair wearing a t-shirt underneath a long green jacket and baggy cargo pants, along with black boots, confront the last guy. The man tried to throw a punch, which the mysterious guy dodged easily, and used as a catapult to swing him into the wall, where he beat the man to a bloody pulp. There was no contest.

The man slid down against the wall and slumped over sideways. It was very quick work for him.

She looked up at the mysterious man. He had the most placid face. He obviously wasn't a very happy man. He resonated with a serious presence, a veteran vibe, and with the way he eliminated those men, he gave off more than a commanding presence.

He looked at her with concern, yet distant. He started:

"You shouldn't be out this early in the morning. Guys like these like to go bump in the night."

"I…" she stuttered, "…I couldn't help it. They were chasing me."

"Why?" he asked bluntly. He didn't see why so many men would want to pursue a teenage girl for no reason that wasn't malicious.

"Umm…it's hard to explain."

"Family business?" he surmised.

"Yeah…that's a good way to put it."

"I know the feeling" he stated quietly, "You should be getting home."

"I…I do-"

"You don't have one?"

"I do! But… I don't have anything to return to…"

He observed her for a long moment while she stared at the floor with her head a few centimeters above the ground. He knew she wasn't lying.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Um… it's-"

"You hesitated. People don't mess up their names."

"You didn't let me finish!" He saw that her spirits were lifted to some degree.

"Doesn't matter. Formalities ruin introductions, anyway. You might as well ask someone where they would like to be buried when you ask for their name."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Here's a better question…" Leaning against the wall next to one of the guys he had beaten, he pulled out a cigarette box from his coat pocket, took a joint and put it above his bottom lip, lit it with a lighter after cuffing his hand around the flame, and then put the lighter away, taking in a fresh dose of nicotine all the while. She looked at him, awe-struck and mystified, waiting for whatever his question was.

"…what do you want to do with your life?"

She wasn't expecting it. It wasn't too surprising, coming from a guy like him, but she didn't know how to respond.

"I…I…"

"It's O.K. if you don't know. There's nothing wrong with not knowing at your age. Let me rephrase the question: do you have any dreams?"

That was even harder to answer. She didn't have much to write home about. She looked at her hands and saw that they were shaking again. She wanted to make it stop.

"I…I want to stop shaking."

He looked at her curiously.

"I don't want to hesitate anymore. I want to see _clearly_."

"Don't get too self-conscious. I didn't want you to think too hard about it."

She looked up at him, peering into his eyes.

"Could you help me? Could you show me what you know?"

He wasn't expecting that response at all. Out of all the people he met, no one had ever thought of him as a teacher. She was the first. Her eyes were azure, dark, cold… they reminded him of times long passed. The melancholic design. The frigid atmosphere.

"I don't know if you want to follow a guy like me around. I tend to get into more trouble than I stay out of."

"I don't care. I've seen my fair share of trouble. I'm O.K. with that. Please…"

He bent down to her level and looked her deep in the eyes.

"Do you _want_ me to teach you?"

He didn't even have to ask.

* * *

The sun beat down on her the same way it did so long ago. Dust drifted in the wind while she made her way back to Siam and the girl still sitting on the floor. He was bandaging the bruises she had sustained and making sure she was alright for the short-term. He ascertained that she might not be able to train for a few days due to her injuries. She would need to rest before she could strain her small frame, especially if her ligaments were compromised, even a little bit. She sat in front of him and looked him in the eyes while he took care of her. She glanced over and saw Alpha coming back from her promenade. He turned and addressed her directly;

"What were you thinking? I told you we're training her, not trying to hurt her."

"She'll be alright" Alphard dismissed.

"That's not the point. I know she'll be O.K. She's been through worse. I'm just trying to figure out _why_ you went so hard on her."

She didn't know why. Maybe it was the thrill. Maybe she wanted to see her eyes with their crimson allure, glistening so_ clearly._ Maybe she wanted to see how hard they could fight each other. Maybe she wanted to dominate her. Or it might have been that she wanted to put the girl in her place. Perhaps it was for no reason at all.

Maybe it was because of _love_, or a lack thereof.

"I don't know" she replied indifferently before walking toward the range so she could drink some more of their remaining water.


	9. Interlude - The Soldiers' Steed

Interlude – The Soldiers' Steed

* * *

_March with us in the soldiers' steed_

_March with us, heed the soldiers' creed_

_Recall the memories of those who have fallen_

_Bless the Kingdom where their prayers have risen_

* * *

_On this promise they stood:_

_The battlefield is…tragic_

_If action is what the heavens beseech_

_To unbound hauteur, their bravery will reach_

* * *

_March with us in the soldiers' steed_

_March with us, heed the soldiers' plead_

_Honor the ground where the Brave have fallen_

_Behold the Crown, above their banners have risen_

* * *

_On this promise they stood:_

_The battlefield is…tragic_

_Colors will draw their story _

_Let strife witness their glory_

* * *

_March with us in the soldiers' steed_

_March with us, let the soldiers bleed_

_Who will be the next to fall?_

_Whose son or daughter will be the next to rise?_

* * *

_On this promise they stand:_

_The battlefield is tragic_

_If war is their damnation_

_Death be their salvation_

* * *

_Surely, we have found the few around _

_Valiant, to tread forsaken ground_

_Scales, Brasses of Crimson shed_

_Whose blades slay the phantom host dead_

* * *

_Surely, some, like all, will meet their Maker_

_Their fate, by Him, bestowed by mercy_

_The call begs the Gallant of courtesy_

_To faithfully humble their pride_

_For the thorn at the Rose's hide_

_The same placed at basket's side_

* * *

_March with us in the soldiers' steed_

_March with us in the soldiers' steed_


	10. Chapter 8 - Kingdom Come

Chapter 8 – Kingdom Come

She had one chance. If she missed, Siam would have a bullet in the back of his head.

The crosshairs wouldn't stay still. She peered out the sight of the SIG 550 SR in dismay, like her normal sight could see further than the magnification of the scope. He was bent on both knees. The bandit behind him, a Colt 45 in hand, pressed the barrel against his head. The desert wind twirled, hazing their figures into dusty silhouettes.

She peered back into the scope, this time with her eyes crimson, her heart nevertheless churning inside-out. Making a small adjustment, she lined the scope on the bandit's head. Her finger on the trigger shook. She felt the tears surge to her brimming eyes.

She wondered if he thought about her, if he had any idea that he was her target before she pulled the trigger.

* * *

_Five hours earlier…_

"We have to do what?" Canaan asked, perplexed.

"Get rid of some people."

It was unsettling how calmly he was able to say that. Canaan wasn't as desensitized as he was. She still felt culpable, though at that juncture she had eliminated quite a few targets.

"O.K." she affirmed. "Where do we find these people?"

Siam was sitting on the couch, a coffee mug on the table in front of him. That was his second. It seemed that when he wasn't smoking, he was grinding cocoa in the coffeemaker. She supposed that it was somewhat of an equivalent substitute, seeing that he couldn't stay for many hours without caffeine or nicotine in his system.

"We have to go back through the desert south of here. My client told me that they're making their way to our vicinity. We don't need a group like that accidently stumbling upon this cabin."

"So we're going to ambush them?"

"Yeah. We have about three hours before we're equidistant from the rocky terrain four kilometers south of here. Alphard already made her way out there to set some things up."

He rose slowly to his feet and strolled to the middle of the walkway leading to the bathroom behind him. He tapped the floor with calculated steps until he heard a small click from the wooden planks on the floor.

"Stupid thing is barely distinguishable…" he mumbled to himself.

He bent to one knee and traced his fingers along the subtle cracks. When his hands were fully separated, he pressed the tips of his fingers against the exposed gradient, lifted, and revealed a latch. He stood, his one hand underneath the handle, and swung the closure open. When Canaan looked over his shoulder, she couldn't see the bottom. Pitch black. He already started descending the ladder before she could express her worry – she thought if they went down, they wouldn't come back up. Some ghouls would take them and they'd be singing hymns to demons for entertainment. He saw her expression and responded teasingly:

"I sometimes forget you're still a kid. You don't have to be afraid of the dark."

"I can't help it!" she asserted. "I have no idea what's down there!"

"I guarantee you. The dark is not as scary as a gun. Come on."

She could no longer see him as he descended into the unknown. Afraid but encouraged, she followed, descending the ladder until they reached the bottom.

She couldn't see anything around her. The only light that illuminated came from above. Siam, obviously familiar with the floor, walked through the perpetual shadows until he got to the end of the space. Canaan didn't move.

"I thought you said you like things that don't have colors." Siam commented while making his way to the light switch a few meters opposite the ladder.

"Y-yeah…"

"Then why are you afraid of the dark? Isn't black the absence of color? It shouldn't be much different."

"I-I guess" she shuttered.

"You like your Beretta, right? You said it doesn't have a color. Is black a different case?"

"I don't know!" she retorted. "I-I just don't know. It's like… with my Beretta, I don't get any feedback, so I don't have to be scared. It's just there. But the dark is different…I feel like it's trying to _consume _me."

…

Siam listened quietly. He leaned against the wall, his arm underneath the open switchboard.

"And I couldn't see anything when I was trapped. I couldn't even see what was in front of me…"

"I suppose people are afraid of what could happen when they can't see ahead of them. You're a soldier. You don't have to sleep with the lights on. We've done much worse than anything the dark could do to us."

He flipped the first floor switch and reset the system. The lights on the floor above them extinguished. He flipped it again. The lights returned. Canaan's shut her eyes as she was nearly blinded by the fixtures illuminating blue fluorescent lights from panels above. The ambience was relaxing, inviting, and mysterious. There were wooden pillars around her, holding the floor above. The walls were painted an odd shade of yellow and green, the ladder tint being more dominant. Leaks seeped onto the ground in the corners. It would have been totally empty had it not been for the water heater pumping and the boxes flanking the wall on her left. The floor constituted the same plan as the one above, except for a cutoff where the kitchen began. She was relieved to finally be out of the dark.

"The light switch was right next to you" Siam noted.

She turned to her right and saw the switch on the wall next to the ladder. She was appalled. He didn't say anything else about it, instead proceeding to remove some of the boxes along the wall. The sheepish feeling pestered her.

She felt bad for not having tried to seek it out.

She shook the guilt from her head and walked to where Siam was, standing behind him while he rummaged through the boxes. She removed some of them and placed them aside to help. Eventually, he found a large case which he pulled away from the wall. It was black and had a longer length than her height. It was quite large.

He undid several latches in the front and lifted the case. Inside were assemblies for three weapons – two of them assault rifles, the other a sniper rifle.

"Do we need this kind of weaponry for an ambush?" she asked disconcertingly.

"No" he replied bluntly. "But we're not taking any chances. These kind of guys like to travel in hoards. We're planning on wiping out as many as we can before they can react. We need a lot of firepower and redundancy as well."

He put both the assault rifles together, subsequently leaning them against the wall. Canaan sat on one of the boxes and played with her Beretta. She aimed at the wall and pretended to fire, very much childlike. He would glimpse at her occasionally, a smile over his face, though somber at the same time.

"Is somebody going to have to walk?" she inquired, worried. "The bike can only fit two people."

He began putting the sniper rifle together. He attached the stock to the frame, slid the adjustable scope onto the rail, and inserted the magazine, pulling back on the charging handle while making sure the safety was on. He took it, leaned it against his shoulder, and aimed at the far wall while looking through the scope. Canaan watched him quietly, still waiting for a response.

"You're going to walk."

"What?!" she complained, "That's no fair!"

"You'll be using this."

Immediately, her frustration subsided.

"Oh."

He smiled. "Don't jump guns before you pull the trigger."

"I got mad because I thought you were leaving me out."

"Quite the contrary: you're going to provide over watch and suppressive fire if necessary. Alphard and I will wait for them along the route. You'll walk to an elevated patch of land with rocky formations about three and a half kilometers southeast of here. You won't need to go further than that."

He threw the rifle over his shoulder with the sling and took one of the assault rifles on the wall, along with a cargo bag of ammunition. He began walking to the ladder and gestured for Canaan to grab the other rifle. She stood, grabbed it by the frame, and followed behind him.

* * *

"There's a better way to hold it" he scolded.

She held the SIG 550 against her shoulder with her right hand underneath the barrel, her left at the trigger. The legs under the barrel stood atop the railing and held the rifle straight. He demonstrated the proper stance, his one arm around an imaginary trigger, the other going across his body and holding the imaginary stock. They were on the balcony, the first time they had stepped out onto it, and looking past the river to mountainous routes beyond. Her vision was filtered, not by crimson, but by crosshairs and magnification. She could see so far. She thought maybe if she pointed it in the air, she'd be able to see all the stars in the sky. Unfortunately, the sun's morning glare hid anything above the cloudy, blue sky.

She didn't like the chastisement but she had gotten used to it. She knew he was just trying to make her better.

It was hard to hold up the long weapon with her right hand. She readjusted, emulating the stance he showed her.

"That's better. You see that brush across the river? I want you to shoot the _bark_."

She looked through the scope, adjusting the scope for a lower magnification, and lining up the crosshairs with the shrub before bringing it down to the bark just above the ground. Siam crossed his arms and observed her carefully.

She pulled the trigger with the same amount of force she would pull her Beretta. It didn't fire. She gave it a heavier nudge, anxiously anticipating the recoil, and heard the loud, sharp bang exit the rifle and hit the ground almost simultaneously.

"I missed! Damn!"

"You fired _while _exhaling. The trigger pull threw you off. Your stock came back at an angle. When you shoot a weapon this specialized, you need to relax. This is not like running the course at the range. Take it easy and focus."

"It's harder than it looks" she complained, her mouth pouted. The current had picked up, but the river still streamed gently, trailing lightly along the river wall.

"After you shoot, the stock should come straight back into your shoulder and your scope should barely have moved off the target. Breathe deeply a few times and when your last breath is exhausted, that three second slot is your best shot. Keep at it. You'll get better."

She sighed. Somewhat irritated, she peered back into the scope, aimed at the bark, and breathed slowly. After exhaling, she gave the trigger a heavy pull. Bang. The bullet grazed the bark, chipping away the wood on the surface, otherwise missing.

"Shoot!" she muttered angrily.

He scratched his head. She was the type that needed to be trained by some sort of intrinsic incentive – she performed better when she was intrigued by what an exercise entailed. Essentially, she needed more _interaction_. Considering her capacity to augment her abilities when her eyes changed, which still perturbed him, he found it peculiar how much instruction she needed. Alphard was different in that respect: she only needed Siam to show her something once. She'd evaluate the fundamentals and adjust them so that they suited her. Quietly calculated, subtly independent, compulsively distant.

"Don't move. I want you to shoot the targets when they appear."

"What targets?" she demanded, still frustrated with not being able to shoot very well.

"You'll know when you see them."

He walked back into the cabin, went to the kitchen, searched through the drawers until he found a small packet, went to the closet and grabbed a pump, and headed down the stairs. He walked upstream for a few minutes, crossed the river at its calmest juncture, and proceeded deeper into the mountainous terrain. They didn't have much time left. He needed her to practice with viable targets instead of shooting at leaves and shrubs. Hopefully, his idea would work and she'd reciprocate well.

She held her head up with the palm of her hand. Her elbow was next to the barrel of the rifle which was leaning upright against the railing. She had been waiting for twenty minutes. She didn't know what she was looking for. She just stared out into the peaceful panorama, losing herself in the beauty. She turned her head upstream, bored out of her mind. There was a streak being left in the sky by some kind of aircraft. It moved so slowly. She traced her finger along its path as a means to distract herself and because it mesmerized her – how a small dot turned paintbrush could leave white streaks over a bright, blue canvas.

When she lowered her head, she saw something floating in the air.

"?..."

A red balloon. Then a yellow. Then a green. And another red. They drifted lackadaisically through the air, wandering about in ever-alternating altitudes.

She smiled excitingly. Quickly, she picked up the rifle, turned in the targets' direction, placed the legs atop the railing, and peered through the scope. She was so enthused she forgot what he had told her. Relax…relax…

Breathe…breathe…breathe…

She placed a blue balloon in the crosshairs and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Siam heard the loud bang from afar. He shaded the top of his eyes with both hands while looking in the air at the balloons he had released. The blue one popped.

"There you go..."

Amazingly enough, she popped over seven balloons within the frame of a few seconds, all of which were quite a distance away from one another. She missed some, though. Actually, many. He doubted it was because of the cartridge capacity or a lapse in time due to reloading – _purposefully, _she missed all the red ones. The yellow ones as well. All the other colors – green, grey, brown, black - were fair game for her. She would sometimes shoot the purple ones, but that was on a give or take basis. Whenever he lifted a blue one, however, it didn't rise very high until he saw it pop.

She did say she didn't like that color. Her color-based bias showed. However she perceived the world around her, he concluded that she must've based her strategies and actions off the colors she saw, though he didn't know if it was because of her eyes or in spite of them.

Accommodating her tastes, he began only putting air into the blue balloons. He lifted them one at a time and saw each of them split in rapid succession. At a certain juncture, he filled up six balloons, keeping them all on the floor by putting rocks on the strings, and released them one after another. They floated whimsically into the air. He almost felt bad for them – they were all going to be systematically shot down because of a girl and her prejudice.

Alphard didn't have that "problem." She would kill anything or anyone as long as it was a target. He wondered whether Canaan's eyes and whatever her clarity permitted were some kind of brilliant asset or a crutch she would depend upon _too _much.

He sucked on his teeth. He realized how susceptible he had become to overthinking.

They were just balloons.

* * *

She saw six blue balloons rising simultaneously. Realizing that she wouldn't be able to do a clean sweep, she reloaded the cartridge with another and peered back into the scope. She started with the highest one, aligning the crosshairs at its center and pulling the trigger. Pop. Making a small adjustment to her right, she fired again. The pieces of the shredded balloons shredded and floated wearily through the air, setting their itinerary for no definite destination. She pivoted her gun at an angle, breathed slowly, and fired again. Pop. She never thought that shooting balloons could be so interesting.

Siam watched as the last three balloons were eliminated. Afterward, he saw a bullet go through one just under the cuff of his hand, another shredded just above his head, and the last torn apart, all in a methodical sweep characteristic of a sharpshooter. That was good enough for him. He picked up the pump along with whatever was left of the balloon packet and headed back upstream. He knew that she would have liked to continue, seeing that she had grown a liking to training, but couldn't since Alphard was coming back soon. Their objective was fast approaching.

She waited impatiently for Siam to release more balloons into the air, but didn't see any. After ten minutes of waiting, she came to the conclusion that her shooting spree was over. She removed the rifle from the railing, setting it against the balcony window, and waited for him to return. When she heard his footsteps coming from upstream, she jumped the balcony, landed aptly, and ran to meet him.

"We should do that more often" she commented cheerfully. "I thought you were going to send more."

"I would've but we should be getting ready to head out."

"Can we do it again sometime?" she asked.

He looked at her with her gentle smile. He subtly responded in kind before adding: "Sure. You'll get to shoot at a lot more targets."

"Awesome!"

"I just don't know whether or not they'll be balloons." He continued up the cabin staircase to get their equipment ready. He would need to prepare her load-out out as well.

"How scary is this group supposed to be?" she tried, mostly out of curiosity.

"I hear that they cause as much trouble as we do, except they seem to do so purposelessly. They travel from town to town, do whatever they want or have to, and then leave. Unlike us, however, they might be in cahoots with the local militia which explains why they haven't been caught yet. They're problematic and we don't need them here."

"They must be bad if we're meeting them out there without their knowing."

He opened the entrance of the cabin, walked toward the closet, and placed the pump inside. He entered the kitchen and put the balloons back in their original place. Afterward, he went to his personal bag and began checking his supplies. Methodical and meticulous as always.

"It's not like they're much different from any other target. We just don't want any group that dangerous passing through this area. It's nice and quiet here and I intend to keep it that way…"

She leaned against the counter and watched as he went through their stockpile of weapons and ammunition. He took one of the assault rifles against the wall and put it over his shoulder with the sling. Then, he made sure Alphard's rifle was fully loaded and that she had ample ammunition for whatever may happen.

"I do like this place the way it is" she commented absent-mindedly.

"Yeah" he affirmed. "You're not the only one."

* * *

"Here."

Canaan took the compass from Siam's hand. She examined its simple yet aesthetically pleasing design, flipping open the locket to see the intricate setup along with the cardinal directions.

"You know where you're going, right?" he demanded necessarily.

"Of course!"

"You won't get lost or anything, will you?" Alphard asked sarcastically. She stood against one of the pillars of the cabin with her assault rifle hanging behind her and the bike just in front of her. Her arms were crossed just beneath her blue scarf, elegantly wrapped around her neck.

"No! I'll be fine!"

"Just make sure you know where you're going. We'll be along the path about an hour from now. You should be setup before we get there. Make sure you'll spotting _southwest_ of your position. You don't have to fire until after we've engaged them – Even then, shoot sparingly. Easy or isolated targets first. Alphard and I will take care of most of them, possibly all of them. But if we're hard pressed, we'll need your help. Be as prudent as possible so as not to give your position away."

He looked at her in the eyes before seeing the new bandages underneath her shirt he had wrapped after she and Alphard fought a few days earlier.

"You feeling alright?"

Her body still throbbed, but not enough to impede her. "I'm fine."

Alphard had the fingers against the inside of her hand, blowing the dust off her nails carelessly.

"Good. Get going."

She turned around and began walking south. The SIG 550 weighed down on her body and aggravated her tender left shoulder and upper arm, but not so much that she couldn't ignore it. Her Beretta, of course, was snugged tightly at her waist. The sun was shining down brightly; In addition to the rifle, Siam packed a small bag of provisions, most of which was water, to go along with her. She had to look quite far to see the vast desert expanse just beyond their isolated area. With each step, she grew further away from them.

"We better not have to come and find you!" Alphard yelled after her.

"I don't think that'll happen!" she shouted back enthusiastically.

Her compass in hand, she meagerly changed her direction to southeast while walking through the rich fermentation. Although the idea of traveling by herself to complete a mission enchanted her, it was an odd feeling.

It was the first time in what she felt was a long time that she had been alone.

* * *

Walking along her path, dirt kicked up, pebbles rolled, and tracks were printed only to be covered anew. She drunk from her ration of water. Her body dripped with sweat – that was nothing new. Most of the perspiration dripped onto her red scarf and dark green shirt, giving the fabrics a darker tint. The ground in front of her was so that whenever she tried to look outward, she could barely see without squinting her eyes.

She kicked some of the stony rocks on the ground forward as a way to pass time. The rifle rattled against her back with every other step. She boosted many of them too far to keep up with, trampled others, and missed some. It was a triviality that made it easier for her to endure the heat, possibly a habit – one she couldn't quite get rid of. With so many rocks, stones, and pebbles around, it was difficult not to.

Though she sometimes didn't know why, she was always kicking a rock around. It could have been subconscious. It might not have been. She just knew that she'd been kicking rocks ever since she could remember.

* * *

_One Year ago…_

"You missed it."

"The sun got in my eye."

"Start another one."

"None of them are big enough."

"Why are we doing this in the first place?"

"Because we're bored out of our minds."

"Is there anything else we can do besides kicking rocks, Rakim?"

"If there was, you wouldn't ask that question."

Canaan was walking along the path with one of her friends. The ground was littered with pebbles as it always was. Many of them were remnants of buildings. Some of them were desert fragments. Others were residue from the conflagration of whatever apparatus left in the area. Only a few were good enough for the two of them to kick in turn.

Rakim wasn't much older than she. He seemed to always have the sniffles despite the constantly warm weather. He wore brown shoes that were as old as he, a pair of beige shorts that ostensibly showed the stains on its fiber, and a white tank-top that was a size too big for him. His hazel eyes were contrasted by his dark and scruffy hair. He had a thin face – his aesthetic would have been quite charming if his facial features didn't seem so depraved. Nevertheless, his serious, "I'm the leader" demeanor made it so that his relative emaciation was a nonfactor. The impression he gave made him seem about a decade older than his age enumerated – that, and the the AK-47 hanging off his shoulder.

"Why are there so many annoying rocks on the ground?" he demanded, kicking a pebble he had been leading for around five meters.

"Because things are always breaking down."

"Well, you would think that with the Promised Land not too far from here, the ground wouldn't be so damn dry. Isn't it supposed to be springing with milk and honey and stuff?"

"I don't think milk and honey come from the ground" Canaan remarked, kicking the pebble back in his direction.

"Maybe if we tried digging for it, we'd find some. Keloei said that you can find water in a volcano. Maybe it's the same for the ground."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" he muttered, frustrated with her being a downer.

"Because even if there is milk and honey in the ground, I don't think we'd find it just by digging. That's not how the story goes."

"Yeah, well, it sure would be nice."

"Maybe it can rain milk and honey and then that'd make you happy."

"It never rains here" he noted, somewhat irritated.

"Well, if it's going to rain anything, it might as well. Then, we wouldn't have to worry about water."

"Yeah, but something like that would only happen in your dreams."

"Maybe I should go to sleep, then."

He smiled. "Even so, it might not happen. It's more likely to rain fire than milk and honey."

"Then maybe we should find an oasis."

"Yeah right. There's a better chance of milk and honey falling from a cloud than that happening."

"A girl can dream, right?"

They were walking through town to their destination, kicking pebbles in the meantime. The town, at least that part of town, was always more empty than the population would have had it been more scenic. There was nothing much to see. The buildings were uniform – the sandy color and a few too many windows - cubicles on sand. The signs of businesses with a lack thereof hung over the streets, drifting back and forth with the rhythm of the wind. Cars were parked in front of the establishments, some of them old, seldom new, many of them European imports, others scrapyard material. The vibe was empty not in the sense that something was missing, but that something was _never _there.

Then, there were the statues of the plaza in the middle of town. Bronze statues stood erect, depicting the formidable appearance of local politicians of late and current regimes. Although they were grandstanding manifestations, their intimidating potential was sullied by evidence of vandalism. Their anatomies were marked with black and red streaks from adhesive sprays. The writings always expressed less than positive sentiments.

"Are we almost there?" Canaan asked Rakim, her assault rifle dangling from her shoulder. She kicked a pebble back in his direction.

"Ya. It's supposed to be around here."

Rakim looked to his left and saw the statues in the plaza.

"Come on," he encouraged, "let's go get some luck!"

He jogged over to the statues, Canaan following behind him. They stood in front of the tallest one. The figure had his arms crossed, just underneath the third button of his fitted suit. Rakim looked up in what appeared to be admiration.

Then, he started kicking at the base in what looked like a fit of insanity. Canaan waited patiently. It was one of his routines. She had seen him do it a few times before. After he had finished denting the tip of his right shoe, she asked:

"Why do you do that, anyway?"

"I heard that in other countries really far from here, people pray to statues for blessing and good luck. Well, this is our way of getting luck and good fortune!"

She looked up at the politician's semi-angry face.

"I don't think he likes that very much."

"He's not supposed to like it! The madder you make him, the more luck you'll get!"

"Oh. He looks pretty upset."

"Good."

Canaan looked past the statue to a building behind it. It went up several floors with windows on either side of the entrance door.

"Isn't that the place we're supposed to go to?"

He looked were her gaze was locked. "Yeah, I think so." He observed her rifle before turning away from the statue. "Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"You had me doing most of the work last time."

"I'll try not to let it happen again."

"I hope so. Let's hurry up so we get back to Keleoi."

They left the statue at the center of the plaza and jogged to the building. Rakim stood with his back against the entrance door before turning the knob, peeking inside, and signaling for Canaan to follow. The politician watched from his still base, his expression forever unchanging.

From outside, their footsteps could be heard as they went through the house. The creaking of another door.

Then, screaming.

There was a tussle, rumble, and the sounds of furniture falling over. Gunshots rang. The lights from the muzzle flashing flickered from the windows outside. There was more yelling and, consequently, firing. The commotion continued. And afterward, silence.

Canaan emerged from the building first, the muzzle of her AK still seeping smoke. She leaned against the wall and waited for Rakim to exit, looking into the clear, blue sky. She could hear him rummaging through the apartment and complaining about something she couldn't make out very well.

He stepped outside while scratching his head.

"Did you find it?" she asked.

He showed her the manila folder in his right hand. His tank-top was stained.

"They hide stuff in weird places."

"Can we go now?"

"Yup."

They began walking back in the direction they came. Canaan kicked a pebble forward, Rakim kicked it back. He looked back to the plaza and saluted the politician sarcastically. They continued along the path, walking at a leisure pace. No one made a sound. Some people had heard the gun sounds but were slow to respond. The war torn town had grown accustomed to unfitting noises at whatever time of the day.

The politician remained displeased. Though its presence was that of an obelisk, the statue's height paled in scale to the circumstances of its surroundings.

* * *

"Do you still have a few left?" Rakim asked Canaan.

"I think I have one or two."

"Good. He's nicer when his conscience is lifted."

They were waiting inside a tiny efficiency after having walked several kilometers across town. It was their least favorite place. There was nothing but a bed, if that, a table with wobbly legs and a faded coat, and an opening in the wall opposite the bed that served as…something. The walls looked like they were painted over by a chainsaw: chipped paint, exposed insulation, and the most ominous shade of brown. Albeit uninviting, the small room maintained some decency, though it was very little. It did serve its function since, fortunately enough, only one person lived there.

"Why's that?" Canaan responded, swinging her legs back and forth atop the bed frame.

"When people are under the influence, they're always more honest. If you want to get something out of someone, put something in their system."

"Is that why you're always so honest?" Canaan responded.

He looked at her with his brows scrunched. "I don't know..."

"You think you're all grown up, don't you?" she teased.

He began to blush. "No! I…I only do it because Keleoi does it!"

"But you know that stuff's bad for you."

"Well, it makes me feel good, so it can't be bad."

"I doubt that."

The entrance swung open. They watched a figure much taller than them enter and close the door behind him. His boots made heavy _thuds _with each step he took. He wore a white dress shirt, untucked, dirtied, and covered by a beige jacket. The sunglasses he sported covered his eyes and a majority of the scar that went from just above his right cheek to the top of his eyebrow. The bandana on his head fluttered his abundant hair in every which direction, as if they were curling atop and from underneath the fabric the same way someone would surge for air after having almost drowned. His face always remained neutral. If not, then it was usually calculating, scheming.

He dropped his backpack on the bedframe, adjacent the wall where their assault rifles stood. Canaan pulled out a small box, a pack of cigarettes, and removed a joint, extending it out to him. He took it, removed a lighter from his pocket, and bathed the room in lingering fumes.

"Did you guys get it?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"It's on the table" Rakim noted.

He took the dossier and rummaged through the papers. He didn't seem very interested in the documents. Once he came upon a jam, he put his hand inside and removed a small bag with equally small but shiny stones glistening inside. Those weren't like the rocks she and Rakim kicked along the ground. He placed the small bag in his back pocket.

"Nice job, kids."

"What do we get?" Rakim demanded in turn.

"What do you want?"

Rakim didn't know what to say. He rolled his eyes left and right in contemplation. He had thought that Keleoi was going to give them their reward without their input. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine. If you don't want anything, I'll give you nothing."

"I don't know what to ask for! You usually give us food or candy or something like that…"

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind."

Canaan subtly made her way to the other side of the room and let a crack in the door to let the fumes aerate. She couldn't tolerate that smoke as well as they could.

"Um…I…" Rakim was obviously flustered. He didn't know what to say.

"Come on, kiddo. Take too long and I might change my mind."

He looked over at Canaan who looked into his eyes and shrugged. He went with the easy answer.

"I don't know…some _money_, maybe…"

He laughed.

"What? What's wrong with that?" Rakim insisted, embarrassed.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

He pulled out his wallet and removed a considerably thick amount of cash in high denominations.

"Take it."

"Really…?"

Rakim took the money hesitantly.

"You two did a nice job today. You deserve it."

Rakim looked at Canaan with a huge smile on his face, wagging the bundle up and down. Canaan wanted to reciprocate his jubilation but couldn't when she felt like Keleoi hadn't _lost _anything. He just made Rakim temporarily rich but acted like he had plenty to spare.

"Thank you!"

"I just hope you can make something out of that. Oh, and don't forget to share."

"Can we go now?" Canaan asked, wanting to get away.

"I'm not keeping you. Your weapons stay with me. If you get stuck, use this."

He stood and removed a Beretta from his pocket, holding the handle out in front of Canaan. Confusingly, she looked at the handgun as if it were a completely foreign object.

"What? Come on, take it. You sure as hell can't prance around with those rifles all day when the militia or the wackos might see you."

Canaan kept her arms at her side, not wanting to take it.

He chuckled under his breath. "You know how to shoot an assault rifle but don't know how to use a handgun. Talk about walking before crawling."

Rakim put his hand on top of the handgun and took it from his hand.

"I got it."

"Well, well. Don't you just think you're a little man."

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"Fine. Come back before during sunset. I have something for you two to do."

Rakim put the handgun at his waist and followed Canaan out the door. Before he closed it, he addressed Keleoi one last time:

"Thanks again!"

"Yeah…"

* * *

"Is this enough, Grandpa?" Canaan whispered.

"It sure looks that way…"

Canaan was seated in a chair before the mattress in her apartment. His wheezy breathing was more audible than the ceiling fan which spun with a creak and at an angle. His breathing had been like that for a while now. Sometimes, she couldn't hear it at all. Other times, she could hear the wheeze from across the room. Whatever was bothering him obviously was a problem since it had him bedridden. The white sheet covered his lower and upper body, except for his arms. In any other case, he would be out working. Now, however, he was afflicted by some sudden asthma, vomiting, and bouts of psychosis that left him all but able to do much of anything.

The tiles on the floor screeched each time she adjusted her position in the seat. Next to the bed was an antique dresser with all of his sentimental belongings. He acted much older than his upper middle-age permitted in that regard, all the more reason Canaan was worried by his illness.

Rakim was waiting outside the apartment on the bottom floor. He knew what was going on and didn't want to impede.

"If we go to the store on the other side of town, I could get the medicine you need so you can feel better!"

"That would be wonderful…" He coughed, his lungs' weakness evident in his shallow, hoarse fit of draining expulsion.

"I'll get you better, Grandpa" she declared resolutely.

He put his hand on her brown hair and stroked it gently. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing, looking after this old man."

"You're not old, Grandpa. You're just sick."

"I suppose you're right. We…only grow younger with time."

"That's right!"

"If that's true, then that makes you the mature one and your helpless Grandpa the immature upstart, isn't that right?"

She nodded enthusiastically, though her heart ached the longer she watched him suffer.

"I'll be back, Grandpa. Just wait a little longer."

"I'll…be here."

She rose from the chair and headed to the door. She turned and glanced at him before closing the door. He closed his eyes. She could hear his wheezing while making her way to the stairwell where she would find Rakim waiting at the bottom.

* * *

The drug store was across the street from the merchant vendors. The stands, some of which were punctured with small holes, displayed dolls, toys, accessories, and games, many of which were imported. She was enthralled by a certain toy: a round plushy with a small tail and the cutest, sparking black eyes. Rakim noticed that she was distracted and called out to her from across the street:

"Canaan! Come on!"

She turned away from the plushy and jogged across the street to where he was.

Upon entering, Canaan directed herself straight to the counter and addressed herself to the stocky man reading a magazine:

"Excuse me."

He looked up from the pinup spread. "What is it?"

She slipped him the prescription note. He opened it, perused it, stood, and went to the back of the store. Canaan looked around the store while waiting. Rakim was exploring some of the contents on the shelves. It didn't seem like the store had a lot of business – there were very few items missing from stock, if any. The lights in the back were switched off. The setting was conservative to a fault: total uniformity, a lack of light, and the feeling that the store was run by poltergeists instead of people.

When the guy returned with a white vial, he ran the code through the cash register. When Canaan saw the price on the electronic display, she nearly screamed.

"What?!" she echoed abrasively.

"What's wrong?" Rakim called out.

"Either you pay or you get out" threatened the owner.

"I want to pay but that price is crazy! Nobody can afford that!"

"Why's the price so high?" Rakim confided, equally surprised.

"Look, shit's been real bad. This region's economy is in shambles. When a country's production becomes more than it can actually afford, currency gets screwed." He noticed the wad of cash Canaan had in her hand. In any other case, it would have given him cause to think they were aristocrats. Instead, he just looked at it and waved a dismissive hand gesture.

"Toilet paper is worth more than what you got in your hand. As a matter of fact, If I had some damn papyrus, I'd be rich. Until all the fighting stops and the politicians stop twiddling their thumbs, I have to charge these prices to maintain my business."

"Can't you do something?!" Rakim protested, "She needs that medicine for her Grandpa! You can't let money keep you from helping somebody!"

"_Actually, _I can and I will. I'm sorry, kids."

Rakim's face growled. "Come on! Don't you see anything wrong with what you're doing?!"

"Nope. Absolutely nothing."

"Grandpa…" Canaan muttered underneath her breath while holding the prescription note.

"It's really too bad." He lifted the vial and shook the contents inside. "These capsules are made at the cost of pennies and sold at exponentially higher values. I pay WAY more than I'd like to have these things in stock and no one can buy th-"

Canaan and the owner heard the sound of crashing. When she turned around, she saw Rakim wreaking havoc upon the store's products. He tipped over a shelf, swiped off merchandise atop the wall stands, and trampled his medicinal herbs. The commotion was only augmented by his yelling and the crashes of products being wasted in the owner's store.

"What the hell are you doing?!" the owner bellowed, "You stupid boy! Stop it! Now!"

"You said that no one can buy these products, right?! I don't see the reason to have them out in the open in the first place!"

Rakim came down an aisle, heard the sound of a gun charging, and saw as the owner aimed a barrel at his forehead. Canaan looked at Rakim fearfully, apprehension written over her face. He glared back at the owner fearlessly. The store was silent.

"Leave."

"What do you want for the medicine?" Rakim dared.

"Didn't you hear what I just sa-"

"What do you want for the medicine?" he repeated at a louder volume.

"Rakim!" Canaan called, "Please! Let's just go!"

"Listen to your friend, kiddo. She's obviously the wiser."

"We can get you something worth way more than some worthless paper."

Canaan didn't understand the words that were coming from his mouth. They didn't have anything of value. The only thing they had was money and that wasn't worth more than the dirt beneath their feet. Then, she realized.

"Just get out before I put a bullet in your head."

"Stones."

The owner's eyes scrunched upward. His interest was somewhat piqued, though his anger trumped his rationale. He was only a finger's bend away from pulling the trigger.

"We'll get you some and you give her the medicine."

"Get out."

Rakim clenched his fists and walked toward the entrance, kicking over a crate and spilling out its contents before exiting. Canaan moved her feet and was making her way out until she heard his voice:

"Your friend better live up to his word or else money won't be his only problem."

She left the store on that note. The owner put his firearm underneath the case where he retrieved it. He sighed. There was a lot to clean up.

* * *

"Rakim, forget it!"

They were only a few paces from Keleoi's shack. She was trying to convince him but he wouldn't listen. He put one foot in front of the other, kicking pebbles along the way. She scurried behind him with hope that he'd change his mind and come to his senses. It didn't seem like she was getting through.

"Rakim! You don't know what could happen! Please, stop!"

"I won't."

"What are you trying to do?! Rakim!"

"Don't you see what's about to happen, Canaan? Wouldn't you want to try to do everything to change it?"

"Rakim…I…"

"Remember what you told me about the Promised Land and how we can't find milk and honey just by digging? Well, I've been thinking: what if there's a kingdom in the Promised Land where all the good stuff goes? What if there's a king or a queen keeping everything there for us? All we'd have to do is find it. But it might be even simpler than that! I know we're always kicking rocks, but those precious stones that Keleoi has can help your Grandpa! They come from the ground, the same ground where we kick pebbles around! It's so _clear!_ We don't have to look for any kingdoms when the answer is right in front of us!"

"Rakim!" she begged, "Stop!"

He stopped in front of Keleoi's place. The wind dusted about in swirling patterns; the ground's dirt was always being swept away and replaced. She stared at the back of his thin frame. Maybe, she still had a chance.

"Rakim…!"

"I know what I'm looking for, Canaan" he said as he turned around and smiled at her. "Once we get it, everything's going to work out for the better! Just watch!"

He pushed the door open. She wanted to scream at him, but that would only wake Keleoi up. She had to wait for him. Peeking from behind the door, she watched him sneak up to the bedframe step by nerve-racking step. If only he knew that her heart was pounding faster than his.

Keleoi slept on his side – his back pocket was exposed. After meticulously working his way over, Rakim took a deep breath and tried to slip his hand in Keleoi's back pocket. He made a pinch with his thumb and index finger, slid most of his hand in, and removed the packet of jewels. He held it out to Canaan and smiled jubilantly.

She smiled back, relieved.

She wondered if she was the last thing he thought about before a bullet was put through his head.

"Rakim!"

His body fell over sideways and lay unmoving. The brown wall was stained. She saw the smoke lifting from the barrel of Keleoi's firearm.

She fell down backward, inconsolable. A bolt of what she could only perceive as unreality struck her down and left her distraught. She wanted to scream. Her throat constricted and she was left only with tears surging and falling from her eyes. She shook her head in denial. A sudden bout of cognitive dissonance, she felt as if what she had just seen had never happened.

However much she wanted to, she couldn't fool herself.

She watched as the tall Keleoi took the boy's body and put it in the small room as tentative disposal. He emerged from the shack, wiping his face down with his hand, and glared down at Canaan. She was still sitting there and trying to wipe the circumstances from her memory. She bogged her head down with her arms and wailed. Keleoi didn't like the sight. He took her by the arm and dragged her inside, shutting the door behind him. Against the far wall, she could still see him. There were traces of red, traces of Rakim, on the wall and the floor. It was far too much for her handle.

Keleoi looked at her apathetically. He picked up the jewels from the floor and placed it in his jacket pocket this time. He seemed annoyed.

"I guess money wasn't good enough for him…"

She couldn't respond. She just withered away against the wall.

"As long as you're here, why don't you make yourself useful?"

He took his backpack and put it on the floor in front of him. He removed a clear tube, a small vial, and a syringe. He placed the tube at the wide end of the syringe and began removing the liquid contents from the vial.

"I should be more careful with this stuff...didn't your friend used to smoke?"

She didn't respond.

"You kids are too young to be experimenting. It's hard to justify something that doesn't do you any good. There might be all kinds of side effects you don't know about...when did your friend start smoking?"

The only response he got were small wails and whimpers.

The syringe was filled. He capped it and left it on the table next to him, subsequently putting all the other materials away. Then, with the syringe in hand, he stood and approached her.

"Well, I suppose if you start as a kid, it's not as bad…"

He bent down and gripped her arm tightly. She struggled in futility.

"No! No, no, no, no! No!"

She couldn't get away from him. Before she knew it, she was stuck by the syringe. He pressed down on the top and injected half the dosage before Canaan escaped his hold and crawled to the other side of the room.

Her hands and arms began shaking uncontrollably. She put one arm over the other in an attempt to stop, but to no avail. She clamped her arms over her head and agonized. It felt like her body was being slashed into ribbons from the inside-out. Every sound was the equivalent of a hurricane twisting into her ear canal. Fire engulfed her nasals. Her taste buds were electrified and subdued in incessant spurts. Her eyes felt like they were being lodged into the back of her skull. 20/20 was replaced by SOS and her equilibrium was on a crash course without mayday. Her existence, she felt, was being grated by pins and needles. The anguish was inhumane. She didn't have control over her body anymore. All she was able to manage in her drug-induced mania were grunts, gasps, strains, and screams.

He watched her knock over objects, try to stand on her feet unsuccessfully, roll over and again, and scream for her life. He felt little sympathy. One thing he did notice, however, was that her richly brown hair began changing colors. It changed into a white-beige mixture that could pass off as some kind of blonde. After a few more moments of suffering, she began to cough heavily. Blood came out her mouth copiously. Thereafter, she went into a fit of uncontrollable convulsions. It was apparent that her body didn't know how to react to the prototype. He gave her another few minutes before her body would resort to death as a failsafe from the pain it could no longer sustain.

Eventually, she did stop. She lay against the ground where he had shot the boy, unmoving. Putting his middle and index fingers together, he checked her pulse. He didn't feel anything.

He sat on the bed, pulled out his phone, and made a call:

"Hey…yeah…what did you say this thing is called? Ua? What the hell does that mean?...

A pause.

"…whoever came up with that is either too creative or sadistic…no, I did what you asked…she's dead…I didn't know that...no, I don't, but I could find some…yeah, whatever. Alright, bye."

He put his handgun and the Beretta he had given Rakim at his waist and left the room with only his backpack. He had no intent of coming back. If he was just going home to a graveyard, he could always find somewhere else to live. The sun glared down on him. He put his glasses on and made his way through town to find the best way through the desert in the surrounding vicinity.

* * *

She thought she was dead. At the same time, she doubted that any sort of afterlife would be such a letdown.

All she saw were black swirls. She thought she'd gone blind yet the objects in front of her were still tangible. They were cloakedin shadow-like ribbons that twirled and faded, reappeared and drifted. She stood to one knee first and returned to bipedalism, turning to the door to get away.

Pebbles kicked up as she trudged along in a disoriented stupor. She stumbled about the path with little ability to recollect her footing – vertigo trumped any attempt at a normal stride. People noticed her walking and stared at her in wonder. She didn't understand why they were glowing green. They backed away as she approached. She covered her eyes with both hands and gripped the white strands of her hair; looking up in the air, she searched out the sun but only found a blue orb plastered in the shadow-streaked sky.

She couldn't take any more. She fell backward. Oddly enough, it felt like she never hit the ground.

* * *

She'd been leading a pebble along the ground for a few kilometers. Before she made it to the elevated patch of boulders she would have to scale, the pebble she kicked was sent a few meters laterally, effectively removing itself from her path.

She climbed the formation and setup on top of a convenient boulder extending from the column it constituted. She put her stuff down, removed the rifle from her back, and placed it on the ground. The desert didn't look as intimidating from up high. Along the ground, the horizon made it seem like an unending wasteland. From a higher elevation, it was a gold blanketed terrain that seemed to stretch on beyond the unreachable horizon. How scenic.

She leaned against the rocky column and threw pebbles off the ledge while she waited. It reminded her of him, but she tried not to let her mind linger. Maybe he was in that kingdom he talked about, drinking milk and honey to his heart's content.

At a certain juncture, she saw a trail of dust kicking up from the direction she came from. It was Siam and Alpha. They stopped the bike and hid it behind a rocky protrusion. Alpha walked a few meters away from his position and hid behind a large formation tall enough to serve as cover. She had something in her hand that Canaan couldn't make out. Siam remained in his position.

After they waited for half an hour, Canaan saw as dust kicked up from a convoy of small trucks coming in their direction. There were four of them churning through the desert sand. Canaan lifted both her arms in the air and stretched before getting behind the SIG and taking a closer look through her rifle. The first had three, the second two, and the last two had four each. Canaan pulled back on the charging handle and waited for Siam and Alpha to start.

When the four trucks reached a certain point in their drive, Alpha sat down against the rock and pushed on whatever she was holding in her hand.

An explosion ensued, sending the third truck beaming away from the line in a heap of fire. One of the men sitting in the back was lifted in the same direction and landed in front of the tumbling blaze in a bloodied mess.

Alpha pushed another button.

The second truck was blasted from the opposite direction. It rolled, flipped, and finally careened to a stop. A thick, bellowing smoke fumed from the waste.

Canaan watched both the back and front trucks screech to a stop. The gunmen exited the truck, confused to death, looking around for the culprit who made short work with so many of their men. They were met with a barrage of bullets which riddled them and their truck. Two of the men were eliminated. The third guy hid behind the truck and yelled at his allies for aid. When he peeked out and tried to shoot at Alpha with a pistol, he had a bullet lodged into his sternum. Neither Alphard nor Siam had taken that shot. They concluded it was their friend in high places not wanting to be left out.

Canaan adjusted her sight to the last truck while Siam and Alpha made their way to the front truck for cover. The remaining five were the last they had to deal with. They were also the most resistant – they laid down fire ceaselessly. They still hadn't realized that she was shooting them from afar. She took aim at one guy, pretending like he was a balloon, and pulled the trigger several times. Two of the bullets hit him in the chest, while the others punctured the truck.

They realized that they were at some sort of disadvantage. Two of them hopped into the truck while the other two ran into the patchy desert and shot at the truck. Canaan aimed at the window and shot into the truck, killing the gunman in the passenger seat. The driver started the truck along the path at a reckless speed. Siam and Alpha shot at the already smoking truck as it closed in on them. Alpha was flattered and continued to shoot at the truck, hammering the engine indiscriminately.

"Alphard!" Siam called, "Stop shooting! Stop!"

She finally stopped when he heard him yelling at her. By the time she did, it was too late. The truck rammed into the rear end of the front truck. Both vehicles bounced forward and grinded to a halt – the back truck's smoke and flames were ignited by the leaking gas tank from the front truck and they both exploded. Fire surged into the air while Alpha and Siam were sent tossed through the air. It was an eerie feeling for her to watch them both float through the air filtered by her scope. They landed disgruntled, rolled several times each, and settled in the unforgiving sand.

"Siam! Alpha!"

Canaan looked up from the scope and saw Siam in the dirt after tumbling some ten meters from where the trucks exploded. Alpha was sent in the other direction; her body lay on the ground, moving sparingly.

One of the men walked toward Siam and had his gun pointed at his face. Canaan peered into the scope, immediately aligned his head with the crosshairs, and was about to fire, but Siam reacted before she could pull the trigger. He kick the gunman's right leg when he pulled the trigger, redirecting the discharged bullet, and proceeded to tackle the man to the ground with his larger body. He pummeled the guy senseless. Even from her distance, Canaan could tell that each blow Siam gave him was incrementally rearranging his face so that it had little resemblance of anything former.

Siam heard the sound of a gun charge behind him.

"Damn…"

The gunman had him helpless. He realized that if he tried anything, he wouldn't have much chance of getting out of his predicament.

"Put your hands up" was all Siam heard. He didn't see a reason not to comply.

Canaan didn't have a good shot with Siam kneeled down in front of the gunman. The wind had begun picking up – any mediocre shot might end up doing more harm than good, especially at her distance.

She watched as the man kicked Siam in his side and again against the side of his head. The wind blew dust up in their vicinity and she still couldn't get a clear shot. When the dust cleared, she saw a bloodied Siam on his knees with his hands up and head down. The gunman had the barrel of his gun against his head.

She realized who he was when she had a clear shot of him.

Keleoi.

For one reason or another, her hands began to shake. The crosshairs of the scope veered off and her finger tapped the trigger in no proper way. She could hear Rakim's voice going through her head and haunting her like a desert spectra cursing its victim spitefully. Her head lifted from the scope and she couldn't provide the necessary focus for a weapon that precise without taking a bad shot. Even from that far, she could see as the taller figure pistol whipped the subjugated figure. A gust of wind covered their figures anew and the haze flooding her mind distorted her rationale.

His voice played over and over, along with that day when he was shot dead. There was one thought that finally crossed her mind, as if a reminiscent epiphany, that brought her back to her senses:

_It's so clear! We don't have to look for any kingdoms when the answer is right in front of us!_

_Don't you see what's about to happen, Canaan? Wouldn't you want to try to do everything to change it?..._

The dust covering their silhouettes cleared. Resolute, her eyes crimsoned. She peered back into the scope, aligned the crosshairs with his head, and put her finger on the trigger, breathing out slowly.

She wondered if Keleoi thought about her, if he had any idea that she would be the one to kill him.

The bullet fired. She looked through the crosshairs two seconds later and heard the sound of his gun fire at the same moment her bullet lodged into the bottom of his neck. Both he and Siam peeled over and she didn't know whose blood spilled into the air.

"Siam!"

She rose from her perch, descended the rocky column, and ran several hundred meters to his position. The only thought that played in her mind was whether or not she had let the man who had rescued her be hurt, or worse, because of hesitation and bad memories. Stumbling through the dirt, dust fluttered through the air with each hectic step and pebbles kicked from her rugged boots as she made her way over.

When she finally reached him, she bent down next to him and saw all the blood that had collected from his body.

"No! No, no, no, no! Siam! Siam!"

"What are you yelling about?..."

He turned his body over and looked her in the eyes. The bullet had entered his shoulder. It looked like she got the shot off in time.

"Siam!" she screamed ecstatically. She jumped on his back and hugged him. She didn't care about the blood seeping from his body that would stain her clothes. She was just happy that he was O.K.

"Canaan…you're hurting my shoulder…"

"Oh! I'm sorry!"

"It's alright…"

He rose to his feet slowly, a little shaky from the blunt trauma he had sustained, but no worse. He saw that Alphard was also slow to get up. Her clothes had been burnt and her face was dirtied. The streak of red which went down the side of her face appeared to be her worse injury.

"Alphard!" he shouted, "You alright?"

"I've been better…" she muttered.

"What was that?"

"I'm fine!"

"I think we could have done worse" he commented while looking at the carnage they created.

"I think we did a pretty good job."

"I suppose. I didn't think I'd end up with a headache." He rubbed around the contusion that had begun swelling at the back of his head.

"Can't you just take some medicine for that?"

"I don't think it's that simple."

He looked down at her and was reminded of the many targets she had taken out. She was quite the sharpshooter.

"Nice job out there."

"I wish I'd done better" she sulked.

"It doesn't matter. You took some of them out and never exposed your position. In that respect, there's nothing to beat yourself up about."

"I guess."

He chuckled. "I wish you'd have shot the last guy earlier. That would have saved me a lot of hurt."

She felt bad about it. Sheepishly, albeit honestly, though he didn't know any better, she replied:

"I couldn't get a clear shot."

He nodded. "I'll take your word for it."

She teased him a little. "Maybe if you hadn't gotten in the way, I could have gotten a better sh-"

Canaan heard the gunshot. There was red seeping from her abdomen.

"Canaan!"

Siam removed his handgun from his waist and was about to shoot the bandit.

Alphard got to him first.

She put the gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger. The sound propagated through he desert. His arm slumped down and his body fell limp. She had stained herself after taking the shot. Disgusted, she shook the red from off her hands. Following through, she took the opportunity to brush the dirt from her scarf, shirt, and pants. It seemed she didn't like being dirty.

Canaan, on the other hand, was red-handed. She tried to cover the wound with her hands, but it didn't help.

"Canaan!"

She felt dizzy. Her life was being drained of her. She fell to her knees and suffered, dying slowly. Siam went through his tactical vest and pulled out a syringe.

When she saw it, she inextricably linked it to what Keleoi had made her go through.

"No!…no, no, no…!"

She crawled away. Alpha looked at her and was amused. She couldn't help but take her overwhelming fear as some kind of joke.

"Looks like she's finally gone off the walls" she jested, her arms crossed and face smiling.

"Canaan!" Siam called, "I want to help you! Canaan!"

A scream was the only response he got from her. She scurried to her feet, her irrational fear giving her newfound vitality, and scampered away as far and as fast as she could. Siam would have chased her down but his shoulder prevented otherwise.

"Alphard!" he commanded, looking deep into her azure-blackened eyes.

She knew what she had to do. She made sure he could see her frustration when she sucked on her teeth and kicked at the dirt.

"Fine…"

He tossed her the syringe and she set off in a hurried sprint. Alphard was faster than Canaan was quick and it didn't take her long to chase her down. She jumped at her, effectively tackling her to a standstill. She squirmed and resisted, swatted and retaliated. She categorically refused for the morphine to be anywhere near her.

Alphard didn't mind roughing her up a little.

She formed a fist and punched the side of her cheek while at the same time sticking the needle between her shoulder and chest. The girl stopped struggling and she immediately calmed down. Alphard _really_ didn't want to but decided to directly apply pressure to the girl's bleeding as she waited for Siam to come over with supplies. She noticed that the girl had pretty much fallen asleep. When he came over, she asked:

"Is this stuff suppose to make you sleepy?"

"It's a painkiller and has depressive effects but isn't meant to knock people out. In this case, she might have been so wired that she reacted in kind."

"Maybe you should give her another dose. You know, just in case" she remarked sarcastically. "The way she lost it is definitely a mental thing."

She removed her hands so that he could work on the wound.

"It looks like the dark is not the only thing she's afraid of."

Canaan couldn't really make out their words. She was in a psychedelic state between consciousness and whimsical slumber. She did, however, remember seeing how Siam had lifted her onto his back, how he had put her on the bike, and the feeling of her head resting against Alpha's back. Everything else was a blur.

* * *

Siam didn't mind making the trek back to the cabin by foot if it meant that she could be taken to a bed and rest easy. He bandaged his own wound and created a temporary splint to keep his arm elevated. After having gone through the wreckage, he found a document that hadn't been completely burned labeled "**Ua.**" He took it with him, went to pick up his assault rifle, and began walking north.

How odd. For the amount of time he had spent in the desert, it was only then he noticed the abundance of pebbles on the ground. They crackled each time he peeled over them, some of them bouncing along each time he kicked them, sometimes purposefully, most of the time serendipitously.


End file.
